


England and Nowhere

by la_faerie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I didn’t think you liked me much,” Harry says, leaning his elbows on the table.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“No.” Liam thinks back to his first impression of Harry. “I didn’t much.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“And yet you kissed me.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Yes.” Liam thinks back to that, too. “I did.”</i>
</p>
<p>Liam and Harry strike up a relationship after being introduced at a party, but they have a lot to learn about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	England and Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> I struggled to come up with a summary for this fic because it's a bit of an odd one. On the one hand it's very ordinary: Liam and Harry go to school, get jobs, and make time for a relationship in between all of that. But, on the other, I don't think there's any universe in which Liam and Harry would be ordinary together. Like I said, some aspects of this fic might be a little bit odd. Please feel free to discuss in the comments here, or you can find me [on tumblr](http://lafaerie.tumblr.com). I'm always up for a good discussion and critical feedback.
> 
> Thank you to [Any](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdf/pseuds/cmdf) for understanding the importance of buttoning a tuxedo jacket. 
> 
> Thank you to [Lindsay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/pseuds/icecreamsocialist), the consummate Editor, who never bothers me with family business.
> 
> Just to give you an idea for the timeline of this fic, Burns Night is the 25th of January. That is when this fic begins.

  
_Here, the intersection of the timeless moment  
Is England and nowhere. Never and always._  
TS Eliot, Little Gidding

Liam’s bowtie isn’t sitting right. He tries to fix it as inconspicuously as he can while at the dinner table, but, without a mirror, he’s afraid he’s only making it worse.

He thinks wistfully of his cozy room back at uni. He could be wearing sweatpants and marathoning the _Iron Man_ films with his mates, Niall and Zayn. Instead he’s here, sitting under the twinkling chandeliers, wearing a tuxedo for only the second time in his life, constantly fiddling with his bowtie and unable to make it fit exactly right. 

But it’s Burns Night in Scotland, which is always a big deal. Professor Crawford had invited him to this dinner celebration put on by the UK Cultural Trust, and had even arranged for a nice car service to pick him up and bring him to the event. It would have been rude to refuse.

The ballroom is crowded with the well-heeled and well-coiffed, and even though the dinner is taking place in Edinburgh, Liam notices that many of the attendees have English accents, and are middle-aged married couples. It’s an understatement to say that he feels out of place sitting down to dinner next to his university advisor, although Professor Crawford—always on a more esoteric plane of existence than most people—smiles at Liam like he doesn’t think that anything is amiss. 

After dinner has been cleared, a man Liam doesn’t know slaps him on the back and bellows out: “Liam Payne! Crawford here says you’re an absolute natural on the piano. Give us a taste, will you? Play for us,” and he gestures to a grand piano situated in the corner of the room.

“Oh no,” Liam politely demures. “I couldn’t.” 

But other people have heard the request, and he’s besieged with a chorus of: “Oh, please! Play a little while we wait for dessert!”

Liam inevitably sits down to play, and he actually doesn’t mind. Sliding onto the piano bench and letting his fingers hover over the keys is the most familiar sensation Liam can think of. He chooses a classical piece he had worked on with Crawford before the Christmas break, and he focuses solely on the keys in front of him, losing himself for a few minutes, the room full of strangers melting away.

An enthusiastic round of applause brings him back as the last note fades, and Liam blinks in surprise at the kind reception. A small cluster of people is forming around him at the piano, including a group of photographers. Liam had noticed them earlier, and apparently they aren’t paparazzi, but, rather, are on friendly terms with the attendees. They take nice, shiny photographs, something people will want to frame and put on the mantelpiece. 

The same man who had first suggested that Liam play now has his arm around the shoulder of a tall boy with rather ridiculous hair, who looks to be about Liam’s age. This boy must be the only other person under forty at this gathering, and the loud man appears to be steering him straight toward Liam.

“Harry!” the man is saying. “It’s good to see you again, old boy. Of course it’s a pity neither of your parents could make it tonight.”

“Mother is devastated,” Harry answers the man. “You know she hates missing these Cultural Trust events, but she’s feeling poorly. She has Gemma to take care of her though.”

“How lucky for her that she has children like the two of you, eager to step in and take care of her duties when she can’t.” The man grins. “For now, though, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Liam’s stomach flips over as he realizes the man is indicating him. He stands up from the piano bench and buttons his tuxedo jacket, trying to smooth it down.

“Harry, this is Liam Payne,” the man says, sweeping an arm out toward Liam. “He’s a student at St Andrews where, apparently, he’s absolutely blowing everyone away.” 

Liam can feel his cheeks flushing as this new boy looks him up and down. Harry has dark green eyes that give nothing away. Liam couldn’t guess what Harry’s first impression of him might be.

“Liam!” He receives another hearty clap on the back. “This is Harry Styles. He’s at Oxford. He’s someone you’ll want to know.”

Liam has no idea how to respond to that kind of introduction, so he merely holds his hand out, and Harry takes it. He’s vaguely aware of the loud man stepping away and leaving them room to greet each other. Liam also becomes aware of camera flashes going off. Harry turns his head to flash a grin for the photographers, while still gripping Liam’s hand. Harry’s handshake is easy and confident, like this is something he frequently does. Liam is afraid his own hand feels a bit awkward in Harry’s grip. He doesn’t meet new people very often.

Liam stares down at their entwined hands wondering how on earth he ended up shaking hands with this boy and why anyone would care to photograph it. Liam looks back up and Harry meets his gaze. Harry’s grin freezes as something like annoyance flits across his face. 

“Smile,” he hisses at Liam through clenched teeth. “You look like a twat.”

Liam thinks that’s awfully rich coming from someone with an absolute mountain of hair piled on top of his head in waves. But Liam has never been the rebellious type, so he does as he’s told, baring his teeth in a tremendously fake smile, while squeezing a little harder than necessary on Harry’s hand.

“Happy now?” he hisses back, as Harry winces slightly from Liam’s grip.

Harry drops Liam’s hand, and Liam lets his body relax for a second, thinking the interaction is over. But before he can move away, Harry slides his hands in across Liam’s shoulders, reaching for his collar. Before Liam can react, before he can bat Harry’s hands away, before he can say _stop groping me_ and _who looks like the twat now, for god’s sake_ , Harry has Liam’s stiff white shirt collar all smoothed down and the stubborn bowtie evened out. 

Liam’s throat feels tight, and he isn’t sure what to do with his hands as Harry touches him. More photography flashes are going off, as apparently this still counts as some type of compelling moment that might later be put into a photo album. It’s all so strange, but Liam isn’t fake smiling anymore, and he notices that Harry isn’t either.

“There,” Harry proclaims, smoothing down Liam’s lapels, and then dropping his hands. “That’s better.” His tone is mercurial, snobbish, and satisfied all at once. 

Liam rather wants to punch Harry in the face for being so odd, for calling him a twat, for prolonging this meeting instead of simply shaking Liam’s hand and being done with it. Except that the longer he stares at Harry (which he can’t seem to stop doing), the more he realizes that it’s not a bad face to look at. Harry stares back, leveling him with that intense look that Liam doesn’t know what to make of. He can still feel the pressure of Harry’s hands smoothing down his lapels, and resting for a brief second right on his chest. That touch hangs tangibly in the air between them. It was unsolicited, and yet not unwelcome. Liam’s bowtie sits perfectly in place now.

“Liam!” Finally a familiar voice cuts through the noise of the room.

“Oh my god,” Liam can hear Harry saying. “Is that Martin Crawford? The Burns expert?”

Liam throws Harry a smug smile as Professor Crawford makes his way through the crowd and wrings Liam’s hand. 

“Your playing was so wonderful,” he congratulates Liam. “Of course it’s always a pleasure, but it made a nice change of pace to hear you playing in this magnificent space instead of the dusty old music room like always.”

“I like the dusty old music room,” Liam assures Crawford, although he can’t help smiling at the compliments. 

Out of the corner of his eye he notices that Harry is still lingering. He doesn’t look uncomfortable about third-wheeling in this situation, which is how Liam imagines he would feel if the situation were reversed. Rather, he looks like he’s content to wait for a proper moment to introduce himself to Crawford. “Professor,” Liam gestures toward Harry. “Here’s someone I’ve met tonight. This is Harry Styles.”

“I’m happy to meet any friend of Liam’s,” Professor Crawford tells Harry.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Professor,” Harry drawls. “My sister has told me all about your work, about how you transitioned into music because of Robert Burns’ poetry.”

“Well, poetry and music...” Crawford gestures with his hands like he can’t articulate his thoughts any other way. “They’re one and the same.”

“Poetry is music, yes. Interdepartmental work like that is so fascinating,” Harry says, looking truly taken with Crawford.

“Yes, yes,” Crawford agrees, before stopping himself. “Hang on, did you say your name is Styles? I believe I’ve met your mother.”

“Yes, my mother usually attends these fundraising dinners, but she sent me in her place tonight.”

“How nice." Professor Crawford smiles. “That gave you the chance to meet Liam!” Liam and Harry both shift on their feet, but Crawford doesn’t appear to notice the frisson of tension. Instead he turns to face Liam. “The main event is over now, Liam, so you’re free to leave whenever you like. I’m glad you could make it tonight, I really wanted you to get a glimpse of the community that supports the arts. That’s part of your education, too. I hope it did you some good.”

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Professor,” Liam says, his eyes flitting over to Harry, and he thinks that he’s definitely caught a glimpse of something tonight. 

Crawford heads off in search of the bar. The rest of the crowd has dispersed now, leaving Liam and Harry standing alone by the piano.

“Thank you for introducing me,” Harry says.

Liam gives a shrug. “No problem. He’s my advisor, so I know him pretty well.”

“You’re at St Andrews, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“My family own a cottage near there,” Harry says. “Not in St Andrews proper, but along the coast in Fife. My parents call it a cottage, but it’s a ridiculous thing made of old stone. Drafty as hell. It's bloody freezing there this time of year. But I like it, somehow. The sea air really is something.”

“Yes,” Liam grins. “The coastal wind is rather… well, fortifying is a kind way of putting it.”

Harry’s expression opens up as he throws his head back in laughter. The sight is intoxicating, and Liam wonders what it would be like to make Harry laugh like that all the time.

Harry steps forward. He doesn’t say anything, simply rests a hand on Liam’s shoulder. Then he walks away. Both of Liam’s shoulders sag as he comes to terms with the fact that he won’t have another opportunity to make Harry laugh.

+

It’s a bit of a trek back to St Andrews from Edinburgh, even with a nice car service. Liam intends to have one cup of coffee before catching his ride back home, but it’s Burns Night, meaning there’s more whisky on offer than ever. The word “coffee” dies on his lips as the bartenders pass out glasses of water and whisky more quickly than people can grab them, which is pretty fast. 

Before Liam knows it, he’s had two helpings of Glenfiddich, and more strangers are clapping him on the back and congratulating him for being so clever and talented. Liam melts into these compliments, his cheeks now a rosey-whisky tinge. He giggles and even joins in as Crawford leads the room in a rendition of _Auld Lang Syne_.

The dinner is taking place at the Balmoral hotel, and Liam staggers out of the ballroom into a richly carpeted corridor. His footsteps fall silently on the plush carpet, and he revels for a moment in being enveloped by so much soft luxury. 

He digs around in his pockets for his mobile phone, knowing in a vague way that he needs to get in touch with the driver to take him home. He’s never done this before and he feels like a bit of a knob asking someone to pull the car around to the front of the building for him. 

But Liam doesn’t have much more time to feel nervous about ringing the driver, as he’s distracted by a flurry of movement. It’s Harry Styles from earlier. He sauntering down the hallway, a black overcoat thrown casually over his right arm. To Liam’s surprise, he actually stops and notices Liam. 

“Oh, it’s you again.”

“And yourself,” Liam answers. He doesn’t know quite what to say to this boy. “Hi.”

Harry gives him a considering look like he’s measuring something up. “Are you drunk?” he asks.

“Yes. No. Well, I had some whisky.”

Harry leans into Liam’s space, a conspiratorial look in his eye. “Good. I reckon that’s how Robert Burns would want you to spend his birthday.”

“I’d hate to disappoint him.” 

Harry is still leaning in towards him, and Liam’s gaze drifts inevitably down towards his mouth. It’s still difficult for Liam to understand the look in Harry’s eyes, especially now through his Glenfiddich haze. But Harry’s mouth, lips quirked up to one side in a gentle smirk, is much easier.

“Why did you call me a twat earlier?” Liam bursts out before he can think about what he’s saying.

Harry gapes for a moment, and then laughs. It’s not as intoxicating as before, as Liam wonders if Harry is laughing _at_ him this time. 

“You were frowning like someone’s grumpy old grandfather,” is his answer.

“Do you want me to apologize for looking grumpy?” Liam asks, noting that Harry hasn’t apologized for calling him a twat two seconds into their first meeting.

“No one would have been happy with those pictures,” is all Harry says, as though this explains everything.

“I don’t care about the bloody photographs,” Liam answers, and his voice is rough, almost growling now. He’s not entirely sure why.

Harry’s eyes open up a little wider, but Liam still can’t see in, can’t tell if Harry is more likely to laugh at him or laugh with him. Liam’s gaze is drawn inexorably to Harry’s mouth again, his lips slightly parted as though on the verge of asking a question. Liam is ready with an answer for him.

In one swift movement Harry’s back is against the wall, the overcoat dropped to the floor. Liam presses into Harry, their bodies shifted together, and kisses him maybe more hungrily than is decent. 

Harry seems too shocked to reciprocate at first, but once his coat has fallen to the floor, he brings his hands up to grasp Liam’s hips. Harry’s hands are large, and his steady grip calms Liam. He hadn’t realized how frenzied he’d become, and he pulls away from Harry to catch his breath and to let things settle between them. Liam has kissed a few girls, but never a boy before. But he’s never met anyone as strange and compelling as Harry, and he’s glad to have taken the chance and kissed this particular boy.

It seems that Harry is glad himself, as his mouth pulls into a smile, and this time, it’s Harry who leans forward and catches Liam’s mouth in a kiss. It’s slow, almost gentle, and Liam is a little surprised by that. Harry swipes his tongue wickedly across Liam’s lower lip before pulling back, and that surprises Liam less. He likes it, he likes all of it.

“You taste like Robert Burns,” Harry tells him, with a little smirk.

“What, like a poet?”

“Like whisky, you idiot.”

“Now you’ve called me a twat and an idiot. I’m doing very well for myself.”

“You certainly are.” Harry slides down the wall to pick up his coat. “I have some people to say goodbye to,” he says, slipping away from Liam’s space, leaving Liam alone for the second time that night.

It’s Liam’s turn now to slump back against the wall. He wipes at his mouth, and trails a finger across his own bottom lip, wanting to savor the way it still feels worn over from Harry’s mouth. Liam doesn’t move for several minutes, utterly staggered by the way this stranger can make him him feel so confused, worked up, and calm all in the space of a few minutes. 

Finally he composes himself enough to speak with the driver and claim his jacket. He peeks back into the bar area, wondering if he should thank Crawford again. One glance is enough to inform Liam that his advisor is rather occupied at the moment, as he has an arm slung around a woman’s shoulder, the two of them reciting poetry back and forth to each other. Liam decides he’ll send a thank you note later. It’s what his mum would do.

A black sedan is waiting outside for Liam, he can see the headlights reflecting in the glass doorway. Just as he’s about to push open the door, there’s a movement, and Liam turns his head. Harry is right there, whispering in his ear.

“This has all been very untoward,” he says, and Liam can’t tell from his tone if he’s being facetious or serious. “But here’s my number. Make good use of it.”

A hand slips a piece of paper into Liam’s coat pocket, and Liam knows that at least Harry is serious about that. Harry holds the door open, and the two of them walk together out into the cold January night. Liam walks straight ahead to his waiting car, and Harry veers off to the right with a little goodbye nod. 

Liam has noticed that, each time tonight, Harry has been the one to walk away from him, but it’s never signified an ending. This time in particular, Liam knows that parting nod is a sign of hope of more yet to come.

\+ 

Harry looks different in the cold light of day, or maybe it’s that, after a couple of weeks now, Liam sees him differently. The two of them claim a table at the busy Costa at the center of St Andrews. Liam waits for his toastie to be finished, while Harry simply orders coffee.

Liam keeps stealing glances at Harry as he waits for his food, and even as they walk back to the table together. His hair is slightly calmer today, although still pushed back off of his face. He looks a bit less suave even though he’s wearing a trench coat, the belt cinched around a trim waist. But Liam can see that Harry’s also a bit gangly, like he’s still settling into his grown-up body. It’s somehow a relief, and makes Liam like Harry more.

Harry grins at him from across the table. “It’s nasty weather out, but I like coming to Scotland in the dead of winter. It’s exciting, being out in the elements and all that. I’m glad you finally texted.”

Liam blushes. “You did tell me not to let your number go to waste.”

“I didn’t think you liked me much,” Harry says, leaning his elbows on the table.

“No.” Liam thinks back to his first impression of Harry. “I didn’t much.”

“And yet you kissed me.”

“Yes.” Liam thinks back to that, too. “I did.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and then both burst out laughing.

“I suppose I don’t really know you very well,” Liam says in an apologetic tone of voice.

Harry frowns. “It’s a difficult thing, getting to know people.” 

Liam gives a bewildered laugh. “You say the strangest things.”

“Well, you do the strangest things,” Harry counters. “Kissing people you don’t even like? Very odd, Liam. Very odd.”

Liam raises one eyebrow as though testing the water before plunging in. “You kissed me back.”

Harry raises his own eyebrow, mirroring Liam. “I did.” And Harry seems to realize the full meaning of his own reciprocation right in that moment. A slow, pleased, and filthy grin spreads across his face, and Liam bets that if he could kiss Harry right now, he would taste like a promise.

“Er, so,” Liam starts. “I’ve met you twice now here in Scotland. Do you actually spend any time at your own school?”

“I go when I need to.” Liam pulls a face and is about to point out the maddening vagueness of this answer, when Harry laughs and continues. “I like my courses well enough, and my friends. But I’m not really sure what I’m meant to do with it all when it’s over. Some people view a degree from Oxford as an end in and of itself. I don’t know how useful that is.”

“So you haven’t got a plan for after graduation?”

“No, but luckily I still have a year left. I have some time to think.”

“Ah,” Liam nods. “This is my last semester. Much less time to think.”

“I didn’t realize that you were older,” Harry says, looking impressed with Liam for the first time. “So, tell me, what’s your grand plan?” he asks excitedly. “I imagine you have everything all lined up.”

“Er, not exactly. I’d like to do something with music, but I haven’t got anything lined up. My friend Niall is going for a position with Radio 1, I reckon I could try for something like that. Although he’s better with people, better at talking. He’s better for radio in general, really.”

Harry frowns. “I see.”

“My other mate Zayn is already applying for post-grad programs, but I’m not sure about more schooling. It will just be one more year where I don’t have a proper job.”

“Hmm.” Harry taps his chin while surveying Liam. “Working with music directly, playing and writing it, that’s what’s important to you, right?” 

Liam sits back in his chair. Harry has figured him out, and Liam has no idea how he’s done it when Harry is still rather mysterious to him.

“Yes,” Liam has to answer honestly. “I just really love music.”

Harry gives a nod like it’s settled. “Then that’s what you have to do. None of this worrying about what your friends are up to. You could come down to London, and we’ll find something for you.”

“God, yes, I’d love to move to London.” Liam pauses before giving a hesitant little smile. “I’m not great with geography, but one thing about London is that it’s a little bit closer to Oxford than our current location.”

Harry grins back and gives his intoxicating laugh again. “Yes, a much shorter train ride.” 

The two of them had only arranged for a coffee date this afternoon, nothing more complicated than that. After a little while, Harry’s phone buzzes. He checks it and gives Liam a sheepish look.

“I should go, actually. Gemma, my sister, is waiting for me at the cottage. The Christmas decorations are still up, and we’re supposed to be putting them away. That’s ostensibly why I’m here.”

“Alright,” Liam agrees. He needs to stop at the library anyway. Then something about what Harry said hits him. “Oh, you didn’t say anything about meeting up with me?” He asks, not wanting to call it a date.

“I said I was meeting a friend,” is all Harry says, and Liam doesn’t know what to say to that.

It’s a little bit easier once they’re outside. Harry attempts to wind a Burberry scarf around his neck, while his hair blows wildly in the wind. He looks ridiculous, and Liam smiles stupidly at him, somehow endeared. 

Harry must feel it too, a sweet kind of energy that bubbles between them for a moment, because he gives a genuine smile and says, “You must come to the cottage sometime soon. We have a piano. I’ve never played it myself, but you could figure out what to do with it.”

“Maybe,” Liam hedges, not wanting to seem either too eager in agreeing, or rude in refusing. 

“I’m serious, we’ll arrange it.”

Liam gives Harry a wry, teasing kind of look. “Alright, just let me know the next time you’re skipping out on uni.”

Harry smiles as though he likes that, both the idea and Liam’s teasing. He leans in, giving Liam a quick kiss on the side of the mouth. His lips are cold from being outside. Harry walks away, and Liam shivers. 

+

Early March still isn’t quite the end of winter in Scotland, but more daylight has begun to seep through, so that it’s still light outside when Harry drives Liam up to the front gate of the cottage.

“Holy shit,” Liam can’t help gasping out, as Harry jumps out of the car to key in the passcode.

The gate swings open to reveal a gravel drive, at the end of which is the so-called cottage. Harry’s first description of it was accurate: it’s a large house constructed entirely out of grey stone. It looks like one of the buildings where Liam attends his courses, and he has to remind himself that, of course, those used to be great manor houses before they were purchased by the university.

Harry parks the car outside of a separate garage, and a small one-story dwelling that looks much more like a cottage to Liam’s eyes. “This is actually Paul’s car,” Harry explains. “He’s been our groundskeeper for ages. He’s staying for the weekend.” He points to the one-storey house. “You know, just in case we need anything.”

Liam grins as he picks up his overnight bag and steps out of the car. “Funny, because I’m planning to stay for the weekend, too.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows as he fishes around for the key to the front door. “Are you now?”

“Some lunatic invited me.”

“Must have been my sister.”

Liam swings his bag around so that it smacks Harry right in the crotch, and they tumble through the front door laughing together.

The inside of the cottage is no less gorgeous, perhaps even more so. It’s certainly brighter, with decorative rugs in every room (to help minimize the cold draft, Harry explains) and colorful contemporary art hanging on the walls. “I helped my mother pick out most of this artwork,” Harry boasts. 

Liam is suitably impressed by all of it, thinking about how he could probably fit his own family home in here twice over. But the real excitement comes when he notices the expansive row of windows at the back of the house facing out to a spectacular view of the sea. 

“Now I see why you like coming here,” Liam says, still staring out the window.

“There’s a pier down there, too. It’s just a small one, nothing like the St Andrews pier. But we can go check it out later.”

Liam simply nods, unable to tear his gaze away from the waves, rolling in serenely at the moment. He thinks fleetingly of how this view must be a bit frightening when the water is stormy. But then Harry is talking again.

“Come on, let’s pick out a room for you. Or you can sleep in my room. You can sleep in any room you want.” 

Harry takes off running toward the central staircase, giving a loud whoop that echoes throughout the otherwise empty house. As Liam turns away from the view to look at Harry, realization hits him, heavy and merciless. 

“The rest of your family isn’t here,” he says. It isn’t a question. “Not even your sister, she isn’t here.”

Harry stops dead in the doorway. He turns around very slowly to look at Liam. “No, no one else is here.”

“You don’t want me to meet your family,” Liam says, his voice flat. “They don’t even know about me, do they?”

Harry’s eyes are as dark and opaque as ever, but this time Liam also has trouble reading Harry’s mouth as it twists, deciding between a sneer and a smile. Harry’s expression is almost ugly for a moment. 

“No, I don’t want you to meet my family,” Harry answers, his voice as flat as Liam’s. “You think it’s because I’m embarrassed by you, I can tell. But that’s not true. I’m embarrassed of them.”

“Embarrassed by your family?” Liam bursts out. He rubs at his eyes, trying to calm his tone. “I’m not angry, Harry, not really. But you do talk a lot of rubbish.”

“I’m being perfectly serious.” Harry waves his arms around, indicating their surroundings. “Do you think my family acquired all of this simply because we’re nice people? I called you a twat the first time I met you, Liam. My mother has better manners than I do, but she can be far more cutting. I don’t know what she might say to you, and that’s terrifying.”

Liam looks around the large sitting room, and he hunches his shoulders in, feeling very small. “I don’t know anything about all of this.”

Harry leans against the doorframe. “We have a family home in Cheshire, and a townhouse in London, in addition to this place. I don’t think I’ve told you this yet, but my parents are separated. It’s quite lucky for them, there’s always an open house so they don’t have to live with each other.” He rattles all of this information off in a matter-of-fact way. He doesn’t want either Liam’s awe or his pity. “Gemma will inherit some of the property, and I’ll inherit the rest. It’s what families in England have been doing for centuries. I enjoyed picking out the new artwork for this place, but,” Harry shakes his head. “There must be more. There must be things that are more important than property.”

Liam doesn’t have an answer or a response right away, doesn’t yet know what exactly is important to Harry. “Our old house was pretty small,” Liam begins, because he can give Harry this, a few details about his own family. “My two sisters had to share a room, they always hated that. When I was about twelve, my dad got a promotion and we were able to move into a bigger house. We still call it the new house, even though we’ve lived there nearly ten years now.” 

Harry is watching Liam, clearly listening. But he still looks upset, and Liam doesn’t quite know why. “My dad has a watch,” Liam offers. “He said he would give it to me when I graduate. That’s about all I stand to inherit.”

Harry nods. “Keeping time. That is important.”

As happens so often, Liam isn’t entirely sure what Harry means. He’s standing on the other side of the room from Liam, still slouched against the door. Liam isn’t sure how to cross this space yet, it’s not his territory. He looks back out the windows again to the sea. The water ripples lightly as though in invitation.

“Can we go out?” Liam asks. “Can we go out to the pier?”

“Of course we can.”

Harry stands up straight and holds a hand out. It’s the only signal Liam needs to feel safe crossing the distance between them and settling into step next to Harry.

The pier is a stone structure that extends several feet out into the water. There’s a ledge on one side to lean against, or possibly to prevent people from falling into the water. Harry had brought a couple of blankets out, and he lays them on top of the ledge while Liam walks out to very tip of the pier and takes in the view.

The sun is beginning to set now, the rippling water reflecting odd shards of color and light like a cracked mirror. The North Sea wind whips along the coast and blows through even Liam’s short hair. Liam stands at the very edge of the pier, leans up on his tip toes, and lets himself feel that balance, that boundary line between solid ground and a plunging fall. He pulls himself back.

Harry runs up behind Liam, wrapping one arm around his waist and holding the other out beside him. “Do you trust me?” he asks, putting on an American accent.

“I trust you, Jack,” Liam answers, holding his arms out wide, too. “Hey, how come you get to be Leo?”

“Because you’re the idiot standing on the prow of the ship here, obviously.”

“Fair enough,” Liam laughs, as Harry moves his hand from Liam’s chest and takes one of Liam’s hands in his own.

“We’ll switch off. Next time you’ll be Leo and I’ll be Kate.”

Liam likes both the promise of next time and imagining Harry as Kate Winslet. He leans back into Harry’s chest and they stay like that for a moment, their arms thrown wide, taking in the whole horizon.

Then Liam turns and pushes Harry in the chest so that they’re safely away from the edge of the pier. Harry’s eyes flash at the push, and one side of his mouth curls up. Liam is there to catch Harry’s pleased smirk with his own mouth. Harry tastes a little bit devilish. Stinging, yet addictive, like salt and vinegar. Liam chases the taste down like he needs it, and the two of them stumble backwards, trying to be careful, but not wanting to break the kiss.

They knock against the ledge and Harry has to pull away. “Liam!” He gives a breathless laugh. “You’re so… You’re so excitable! I can’t believe I ever thought you were some kind of stuffy old grandfather.”

“Can we please not talk about grandfathers right now?” Liam begs. “It’s not really helping the mood.”

Harry drops his face into the crook of Liam’s neck, giggling. Then he’s kissing up Liam’s neck, while grasping Liam’s hips with his hands. The touch has that same calming effect as it did when they kissed in the hallway, and Liam breathes out. 

“I’ve got you,” Harry whispers in his ear. He plants one more kiss just at the cut of Liam’s jawline. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Liam reaches both arms around Harry’s back, utterly believing him.

It’s quickly becoming dark out now, and the relentless wind is still keeping up its pace. The combination of these factors is making it difficult for Liam to undo Harry’s trousers.

“My hands aren’t working!” he wails, trying to flex them in the cold. “And your trousers are too bloody tight. This is your fault, really.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Liam can hear the eyeroll in Harry’s voice. “Hey,” Harry softens his tone, and his voice turns huskier. “We can make this work.”

Liam feels hands sliding into the back pockets of his jeans, as Harry drags Liam’s hips, slow and deliberate, against his own. 

“Oh!” Liam gasps, as he can feel their dicks snag together even through the denim of their trousers. “Oh, wait,” he tries to be coherent about this. It’s important to tell Harry, and it’s important to say it for himself. “I’ve actually never done it with a bloke before. Only with girls. I thought I should tell you.”

“Okay.” Harry doesn’t seem thrown off. “This is good, then. Just get used to the way it feels different, yeah?”

Harry rocks against Liam again, and Liam is grateful that Harry was so understanding because, no, he’s never felt friction like this before. The mere touch is enough to knock him over. He has to grab for Harry’s broad shoulders and it’s all he can do to hang on. The two of them stay like that for a little while longer, swaying together, living in that first wave of heady arousal.

Then it’s a tangle, as they spin against the ledge again, and fall painfully to the ground. Harry grabs the blankets and spreads them sloppily across the pier in an attempt to soften the solid stone. Liam tries to be the gentleman, and stays on his back against the unforgiving ground with Harry on top. But Harry seems to have other ideas, as he rolls them over so that Liam is straddling him, grips firmly around Liam’s hips, and urges, “Come on!” in a deep throaty voice that Liam has never heard before.

Liam finds that it’s mostly like every day roughhousing, except that this time, he’s moaning and gasping for breath, not because he’s trying to win, but because being in the mere vicinity of Harry’s dick has made him absolutely senseless and desperate to come. The friction and the pressure in his jeans is simultaneously amazing and unbearable, and he feels like he’s back balancing on that edge again, the space between being grounded and freefalling.

Harry lets go of his hips, leaving Liam feeling unmoored for a second. Harry grabs at his shirt collar instead, pulling him down and rocking his hips up at the same time, and that’s all it takes for Liam to finally plunge over the edge. Liam’s hips stutter, he shakes uncontrollably, and that seems to do it for Harry, too. He pulls Liam all the way in for a hard kiss, and Liam can practically taste Harry’s satisfaction as he moans into Liam’s mouth.

Liam rolls off of Harry, and they lie silently next to each other for a minute. Liam doesn’t feel the cold anymore, nor does he notice the sticky mess in his pants for the moment. It’s just nice to lie with his head on Harry’s shoulder, Harry with one hand resting on Liam’s hips, as they re-learn the rhythm of regular breathing.

Then Harry rolls over onto his side and kisses Liam on the forehead. “Let’s go inside so that we can do that again,” he says. “Only this time without clothes on.”

+

The weekend passes in a pleasant haze. Harry spends loads of time messing around in the kitchen, sometimes coming out with delicious snacks for Liam to try (a batch of cupcakes goes over well) and some not so delicious dishes (a risotto turns out more like sticky concrete than edible food). Harry even digs up some fishing gear, so that Liam can sit out on the pier and attempt to catch something, while Harry curls up against the ledge under a blanket with a book. (“What, I do have to keep up with coursework sometimes,” he insists, while Liam laughs at him.)

There’s plenty of wine from the well-stocked wine cellar, and they progress from white to red as the day goes on. Liam’s favorite is a deep red Bordeaux blend. He likes the way it feels heavy on his tongue, and he likes the way he can still taste it on Harry’s lips even after they’ve finished the bottle.

Sunday morning dawns cool, with a dense fog rolling in off the water and enveloping the house. Liam and Harry carry blankets down to the comfy sofa in the sitting room. They huddle together and watch through the tall windows as the fog gradually lifts. 

That’s when Harry sucks Liam off for the first time, and Liam is glad they didn’t do this when he was wine-drunk. He feels more out of his mind now than he ever has on alcohol, as Harry takes him in deeper and deeper until Liam can actually feel the close of Harry’s throat around the tip of his dick.

Harry swallows and pulls off, licking his lips and giving a sinful grin.

“You’ve rehearsed that look,” Liam says weakly, pointing at Harry’s face. “It’s too naughty and you know it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Harry croaks out. He already has a hand shoved down his boxer shorts. He tips his head into Liam, mashing his face into Liam’s shoulder as he wanks himself off.

Liam knows he should be a gentleman and lend a helping hand, but he’s lethargic and trying to think of how to articulate something to Harry.

“I want to do that,” he begins. “I want to learn how to make you feel that good. I want to do that for you,” he says, looking to the side where Harry’s face is twisting up.

Harry bites at Liam’s shoulder as he comes, and then rolls over, his eyes still closed. “Well, Crawford seemed to think you were a good student, and I think I’m a fairly good teacher. I guess we’ll find out.”

A problem strikes later that morning when Harry wants to whip up some eggs for brunch, but discovers they are, in fact, out of eggs. 

“Come on!” He pulls at Liam’s arm. “Let’s see if Paul will let us take his car to the shops. Or maybe we can convince him to run out for us.” 

The two of them are wearing dressing gowns with only boxers underneath, and Liam is barefoot, which he discovers is not conducive to walking down a gravel driveway on a chilly morning.

“Ouch! Fuck!” he yells, as his feet hit the gravel. “Harry, what the fuck are we doing?”

“This is in the name of brunch, Liam!” Harry calls, tearing by. “Don’t you want brunch?”

Liam runs to catch up with Harry just so he can smack him. He ends up smacking Harry right in the dick, and he thinks it’s richly deserved, although Harry slaps him right back in the same spot.

That’s when a flash goes off, and Liam startles. This is familiar, Harry touching him in public while cameras go off around them. But why would there be cameras here?

Next to him, Harry is frozen on the spot. “Paul’s car isn’t here.”

“Wait.” Liam’s brain can’t keep up. “What’s happening?”

“The fucking gate is open!” Harry growls. 

In an instant, Harry’s entire demeanor changes. He pulls himself up to his full height, throws his shoulders wide, and charges up the drive, looking every inch the master of the house. Liam would be turned on if he weren’t also completely freaked out.

“Do you enjoy trespassing?” Harry is shouting to seemingly no one in particular. Then a man wearing a puffy black jacket and carrying a camera emerges, and Liam can’t even tell where he had been hiding. Maybe the paparazzi are a bit clever at their jobs, Liam thinks. Harry stops walking. “Hang on, Robbie? Is that you?”

“I’m sorry, Harry. There were a couple of others, as well.”

“It can’t be that slow of a weekend, surely.”

“Slow or not, I’m always on the lookout for a possible story. You should be more careful of what you put on twitter. Anyone can see that shit.”

Harry stomps his foot in the gravel, indignant. “All I said was that I’m off to Scotland!”

“Harry,” Robbie speaks in a tone that clearly means he thinks Harry is being naive. “I had to come up and see if I could catch a glimpse of anything worthwhile. It’s my job.”

“I wish you had a different job,” Harry bites back. “Will those pictures run, do you think?”

“Depends what else is happening at the moment, but they’ll go around online, at least. I really am sorry, Harry. Give my best to your mother.”

“I probably won’t, but thanks for the sentiment.” Harry crosses his arms and waits for Robbie to leave. 

Paul’s car appears at the gate just as Robbie is crossing back out onto the road. Liam is overwhelmed, as there’s a bit of a shouting match between Paul and Robbie, and then a flurry of activity as Paul fusses over him and Harry, making sure they’re both okay. Harry and Paul scour the perimeter of the property, making sure all trespassers are gone, while Paul apologizes profusely for leaving the front gate open while he went for groceries at Morrison’s. The upside is that he has returned with eggs.

Liam insists on doing brunch himself when they finally make it safely back inside.

“Popping bread in the toaster, scrambling some eggs, I can manage it. You sit down,” he instructs. 

Harry listens, flopping down onto one of the kitchen chairs. There’s silence for awhile, as Liam does his best to move around in this unfamiliar kitchen. 

“Liam,” Harry starts eventually. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Liam says, opening various drawers, looking around for silverware. “Well, it was definitely surprising. And a bit mad. But it’s alright now.” Liam turns to look at Harry, can’t stop himself from asking the question that tumbles out of his mouth next. “So, are you, like, actually famous?”

Harry huffs out a wry laugh. “Not really.”

Liam sets a pair knives down on the table in front of Harry. “But you must be a little bit famous. You and that pap knew each other.”

Harry heaves a sigh, leans his elbows on his knees, and launches into the truth. “It’s embarrassing. Last summer, I was on a bit of a wild streak. I went out basically every night, you know, in London. Met all kinds of people. I fell in with a particular group, some models. The paps were interested in the models, obviously, but they got some shots of me. You might have seen the photos.”

Liam shakes his head. “I don’t really pay attention to that kind of thing. I didn’t recognize you when I first met you.”

“Well, you can probably guess my family is pretty well-known in social circles. Once the papers figured out who I was, it was easy to come up with headlines. “Styles family scion woos up-and-coming models.” It was all rubbish, none of us were actually dating. But we started having a little bit of fun with it, going out to restaurants where we knew we’d be seen, sitting in each other’s laps in the taxi, that kind of thing. It was stupid because the paps didn’t back down. So, yes, I know a few of the paps, but I’m not famous. Not for doing anything real, anyway.”

“My mum probably knows you,” Liam realizes as he looks at Harry. “And my sisters. They love gossip columns.”

“And now you might be in one.”

“Oh god,” Liam groans, covering his face with his hands. “My sisters will never let me live it down.”

Harry leans forward in his chair, eyeing Liam. “That’s why I said I’m sorry. Because you didn’t ask for this attention, and that’s not fair to you. I guess I really should be more careful of what I say on twitter.”

Liam lowers his hands from his face. “We never talked about what we’re doing here,” he says slowly. “About whether we’re seriously dating or what. Maybe we need to now.”

“Of course,” Harry answers in a brisk tone. “I completely understand if you don’t want to be serious with me, especially after all of this.”

“No, Harry!” Liam gives a little laugh. “Please let me finish.” 

Harry obediently sits back in his chair and waits for Liam to continue. Having Harry’s complete attention like this is daunting, but Liam plows on. 

“There were cameras at the party when I first met you. Photographers were taking our picture about five seconds after we were introduced. That kind of thing, it really isn’t so different from what happened this morning. It’s natural in a weird way, being with you when there are cameras around. I actually don’t know any other way of being with you. So, I really don’t mind. I’d like to keep spending time with you.”

“Liam,” Harry looks like he’s deciding between laughing and crying. “The fact that you say things like ‘I’d like to keep spending time with you...’” Harry shakes his head. “Yes, it’s the same for me. I want to keep spending time with you, too.”

Liam reaches out for Harry to stand up. “You thought I was breaking up with you before we even really started dating.”

“I did,” Harry says, shuffling over and dropping his head into the crook of Liam’s neck. 

“Idiot,” Liam whispers in his ear.

Harry bites at Liam’s neck in retaliation. Liam reaches one hand down to Harry’s crotch, and this time there’s no smacking anything around. He gives a friendly little squeeze, a sign that he’s ready to be a good student, and Harry rocks his hips forward in response.

“I didn’t realize,” Harry murmurs into Liam’s shoulder. “About the cameras when we first met. I’d forgotten all about that. Funny that you remembered.”

Liam wraps his arms around Harry’s back. They’re a bit similar, the two of them. They’re around the same age, and about the same height. It’s easy for them to fit their bodies together like this. And yet, Liam is reminded that Harry is different. He’s used to living in front of cameras, their presence unremarkable to him. He can, in fact, manipulate the cameras at his will, and smile even when he doesn’t feel like it. Liam doesn’t know what it’s like to live in that way, but it’s okay. Maybe it’s just one more thing for Harry to teach him.

+

Liam’s phone buzzes and the screen flashes with his mum’s number. He really can’t avoid this conversation forever, so he picks up with a studiously nonchalant, “Hey, mum.”

Two screeching voices answer him and, really, he should have expected this.

“Liam, we had no idea!” His sister Nicola is saying.

“Your _boyfriend_ , Liam!” Ruth shouts in the background. So they’ve seen the pictures, then. “We had no idea about your famous boyfriend!” 

“He’s not really famous,” Liam tries to explain.

“But Ruth and I recognize him,” Nicola counters. “We’ve both seen him in the tabloids before.”

“Yeah, he’s fit!” Ruth adds. “Well, a bit weird looking.”

“All that hair,” Nicola agrees.

“But fit!” is the final assessment from Ruth.

There’s a pause, and then Nicola jumps in with what they’ve really been wanting to say all along: “We have to meet him, Liam.” 

“Never,” Liam answers immediately.

“You won’t get away with that, baby brother!” Ruth calls.

“Here,” Nicola says. “Mum wants to fuss over you a bit. Think about it and let us know when you’re going to introduce us to your new boyfriend.”

“Liam, dear,” Liam’s mum comes on, and Liam has to take a deep, steadying breath as it already sounds as though she’s been crying. She always is a bit weepy.

“Hi, mum. Everything alright?”

“Of course, I’m at lunch with the girls this afternoon, it couldn’t be better. We’re having a lovely time.” So it’s tears of happiness this time.

Liam can hear his sisters giggling in the background, no doubt ogling more pictures of Liam and Harry running around outside in their dressing gowns. “That’s nice, it sounds like a really good time, mum.”

“It is. But we miss you, of course, Liam. We’ve got to make plans for your graduation. It’s going to be here sooner than you think, and we’d all like to be there for it. Maybe your new… well, your boyfriend can be there too.”

“Oh, mum.” Liam pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Would that really be the best time for you all to meet?”

“It was a bit of a surprise to your father and I, but of course it’s not a big deal. As long as you’re with someone you really care about. And as long as he’s nice to you.” 

Liam isn’t sure that he would describe Harry as nice. Liam pauses as he realizes that he actually doesn’t know how to describe Harry to his parents. Bewildering. Likes to laugh. Compelling. Complicated family. Maybe introducing Harry to his family would be the easier option after all.

“I’ll check with Harry and see what his schedule is like,” Liam says. “I’m not sure he’ll want to come up for graduation, he doesn’t live in Scotland. He’s English, but you probably know that already from the papers. Anyway I’ll check.”

“It never hurts to ask. That would be lovely, darling,” Liam’s mum says, sounding like she’s about to burst into tears, this time because she’s so pleased with the idea of meeting Harry. There’s a rustling sound and some talking on the other end. “We have to go here, Liam, honey. Just paying the bill now. Talk to you soon. Love you—”

“Say hello to your filthy rich boyfriend for us!” Ruth cuts in.

Liam rings off before his sisters can get another word in, and thinks that all in all, it could have gone worse.

+

Niall and Zayn are much worse about it. For one thing, Liam can’t simply hang up on them, as they’re around all the time: hanging out in Liam’s room, walking to class, sitting across from him at the pub. Liam never knows when the two of them might start in.

He’ll be going to check the post and Zayn will smirk at him. “Be careful, it’s cold out. You might want to put your dressing gown on.” Then he and Niall will dissolve into laughter. 

It’s an innocuous joke and, at the same time, it really isn’t. Because the pictures are out there for anyone to see, and there’s no covering up the fact that the photographs are of Liam and Harry both reaching around to smack each other’s dicks. More than that, it’s Liam openly smiling at Harry, and that feels vulnerable, too.

“I can’t believe you looked at the pap shots!” Liam grouches at the two of them one day. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Of course we looked,” Niall says. “They were all over twitter.”

“And tumblr,” Zayn adds.

Liam narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, all over?” 

Niall shrugs. “I follow a lot of people on twitter. Some gossip accounts. I don’t know, it’s just for fun.”

Zayn nods like this explains everything. “He does really like twitter. Has loads of followers, too.”

“That has nothing to do with anything!” Liam stares in disbelief, wondering when his two best mates had been replaced with these bizarre social media worshippers.

Zayn’s face goes soft. “Aww, you’re upset. You must really like him.”

“Oh, shut it.”

Niall gives a whoop. “I could tell! Those pictures, bro. You were dying to show off your chest. Those abs. Dressing to impress!”

“Undressing to impress,” Zayn corrects, chuckling at his own joke.

“I was not!” Liam protests. “It was _freezing_ out that morning!”

Niall and Zayn both jump on Liam at the same time, tickling down his sides, with shouts of: “Oooh, keep me warm, Harry!” “Harry, please!”

“Alright!” Liam cries. 

It’s a sign of how well the three of them know each other that Niall and Zayn immediately back off and settle down, ready to let Liam speak. 

“I do like him,” Liam admits. “I don’t know why, because I didn’t really like him at first, and I’m not sure what’s changed. He’s confusing, and strange. But he likes to laugh and it’s nice.” Liam heaves a sigh. “I don’t know, this all sounds really stupid.” 

Zayn wraps an arm around Liam’s back and rubs his fingertips in soothing little circles while Niall takes him by the shoulder and looks him in the eye.

“Liam, liking someone else is always stupid. It’s the stupidest thing you can do. But, people, we just can’t help ourselves.” A grin spreads across Niall’s face, and Liam finds himself somehow feeling better just watching that smile form. “Besides, where’s the fun in being careful?”

“I suppose you’re right...” Liam trails off.

“We’ll have to meet him, of course.” Niall says, sounding eerily similar to Liam’s family. “Have to judge for ourselves if he’s any fun.”

“We’ll have to make sure he’s a good sort of bloke,” Zayn says, always a little more cautious than Niall.

“You two are just like my sisters,” Liam laughs.

“That’s a fucking weird thing to say, bro.” Niall gives him a teasing elbow in the side. “But I suppose we could paint each other’s nails now.”

Zayn lets go of Liam to throw a pillow at Niall. “Paint your own nails!”

“Hey,” Liam whines. “That’s my pillow.”

And that’s the end of the whole thing for a little while.

It’s the end until Harry agrees to come up to St Andrews again for a weekend just before they all need to buckle down for final exams. Liam had arranged for Harry to meet them at a pub, because what if they don’t all get along, after all? Liam’s logic is that it will be much easier for one of them to politely excuse themselves if they’re in public instead of crowded into someone’s room. 

Although Liam has a moment where he regrets this plan, as he walks into the pub to see Harry already there. He’s leaning casually against the bar counter, wearing a white button-down shirt and a blazer, looking smooth as the bartender hands him what looks like a Hendrick’s gin and tonic made with a cucumber slice and cracked pepper. Niall will hate that he’s not having a pint.

Liam strides right up to Harry because there’s nothing else for it but to plunge in. They kiss on the lips, but keep it chaste for now—it’s still early in the evening. Harry smells like himself, a bit of cologne, and something vaguely salty that’s maybe just his sweat. Liam pulls back to let Niall and Zayn size Harry up. Harry wraps an arm around Liam, placing one anchoring hand on his hip, and Liam thinks that maybe it will help both of them.

Niall looks Harry up and down and gives a great, booming laugh. Harry blinks back at Niall. For a second, Liam thinks that Niall has broken Harry. He doesn’t know what Harry’s uni life is like, but Liam knows this definitely isn’t the type of social etiquette he’s used to at his society dinners. But then Harry gives a laugh of his own in response. He even tips his head back and everything. That’s all it takes for Niall to break the ice. He’s already ordering a pint for himself and ribbing Harry about his drink of choice.

Zayn doesn’t break the ice with people. He either warms to them in a slow simmer, or lets the relationship burn out completely. Liam watches Zayn as he sits across the table from Harry, wondering what it will be this time. At first it looks like Zayn is merely being patient. Liam knows that quiet, determined look, has seen it hundreds of times as Zayn has tried to explain a Dylan Thomas poem to him, or how Mary Shelley is actually Mary Wollstonecraft’s daughter. But over the course of the evening, Liam is relieved to see Zayn smiling more and more, and not just because of the constantly flowing drinks. 

Zayn and Harry eventually get hooked on their own discussion about Joseph Campbell and The Hero’s Journey, leaving Niall and Liam to shrug at each other. Zayn is making the case that it’s applicable to comic books.

“I don’t know much about comics, if I’m honest,” Harry is saying. “But it sounds like you’re onto something there.”

Niall starts in about tomorrow’s football schedule, and Liam half-listens, half-stares at Harry and Zayn. Zayn has already gotten Harry to admit that he doesn’t know something. Both of his friends have disarmed Harry, already friendly with him in a way that Liam isn’t, in a way that maybe Liam can’t be.

Harry is staying over at Liam’s tonight instead of driving to the cottage, and this is making Liam’s stomach flip over with more than just the several pints he’s consumed that night. He had tidied earlier but, there’s no denying it, university halls can’t possibly compete with an old Scottish manor house. 

“Er, I know it’s not much,” Liam says, as the two of them stumble into his room. “But it’s en-suite. Shower and everything.”

“Four-star amenities,” Harry cracks, which could be a bit mean, but he gives Liam a gentle smile.

Harry is quiet as he goes about brushing his teeth and undressing. Maybe gin makes Harry quiet and subdued, Liam doesn’t know yet. It strikes him that there are a lot of things he doesn’t yet know about this boy who is now climbing into bed next to him.

“I’m a bit jealous,” Harry says, pulling the duvet up over himself and Liam. “That pub was nice. Your friends are nice. Maybe I should’ve come to St Andrews to have a nice life like you.”

Liam kicks at Harry under the covers. “You don’t really like nice though, do you? You’d be bored to tears.”

“Aha,” Harry moves in, biting at Liam’s shoulder. “You’re a bit wicked, Liam. Under that sweet smile, you are a bit wicked.” He moves his mouth up to Liam’s neck, and breathes out lightly, tickling the sensitive skin there. “I like it,” he whispers between kisses.

+

Liam’s mum is right, graduation does sneak up more quickly than Liam is prepared for. He feels a mixture of relief at having passed all his courses, sadness about not seeing Niall and Zayn every day now, and anxiety about his family and Harry making the trip to St Andrews for the ceremony.

“Liam, it’s your fucking graduation. It’s a big deal,” Harry had stressed over the phone. “Of course I’ll be there if you want me to.”

Now Liam is hovering at the corner of The Scores by the beach and the golf course, waiting for Harry to pull around in his car so they can have a couple minutes of alone time before taking on the Paynes. Liam’s parents and his sisters are back at the hotel restaurant waiting for the two of them to arrive for dinner, although Liam is sure he won’t be able to eat anything considering the way his stomach keeps doing backflips.

Liam looks out across the golf course, still crowded even in the evening, with endless rows of men in khakis and polo shirts. A familiar lanky figure cuts through the crowd, and Liam blinks. It’s definitely Harry. He could hardly be more conspicuous in his dark jeans and blazer, even though it’s June.

“Why are you coming this way?” Liam asks, as Harry approaches.

“Sorry!” Harry calls. “I just landed, and thought it would be easier to walk across the course than to call a taxi.”

“What do you mean you just landed?” Liam asks, as they kiss quickly on the cheek. “Landed what?”

“Oh, that." Harry shrugs. “A family friend happened to be coming up for the weekend as well. I got a ride in his helicopter.”

Liam is pretty sure his stomach drops out of his body completely, and he goes numb. “Do you always take a helicopter up here?”

“No,” Harry says, looking confused by Liam’s interest. “Sometimes I take a plane. Sometimes if I’m lucky Dad gets a hold of the company jet.”

“Jesus Christ,” Liam breathes out. “So you just landed in the middle of the Old Course like it’s no big deal?”

“Obviously not,” Harry laughs. “We landed at the hotel. They have a landing pad.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Of course they do.”

“Yes,” Harry grits out. “They do. That’s what I just said.”

“God.” Liam smacks himself on the forehead. “No wonder you treat travel and school like it’s not a big deal. I guess it really isn’t. If I had my own private jet—”

“It isn’t mine,” Harry spits out.

“Nevermind,” Liam is growling, flippant, reckless. “I’m sure you’ll inherit it.”

Harry’s gaze take on a hard metallic gleam, a knife poised in mid-air. “What is this really about, Liam? Because I know it’s not about my inheritance.” It’s half a threat and half the truth.

Liam feels his stomach come back to him then, all in a rush, like hurtling down the slope of a rollercoaster. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “Harry, I’m sorry. Everything I’ve said just now was so stupid.”

“It’s alright,” Harry assures. He moves closer and sets his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “Just tell me what’s bothering you. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Oh god, Harry.” Liam wonders how he can explain. “It’s just that you’re about to meet my family. They all took the train up here, a five hour ride. And you’ve just sauntered across the Old Course fresh from your helicopter jaunt. I don’t think anyone in my family has ever even been in a helicopter.”

“Liam.” Harry gives him a very gentle look. “I take the train, too.”

“I know.” Liam takes a deep breath, because they haven’t spoken explicitly about this yet, and he might as well clear the air now. “You have more money than my family is used to. And despite my outburst just now, the money really isn’t important to me. It doesn’t characterize the way I think about you. But my sisters are convinced you’re Richard Branson or something. Let me apologize in advance now for anything they might say to you. God, I’m so fucking nervous.”

Harry pulls his hands away from Liam’s shoulders. He slides them slowly down Liam’s abdomen until coming to a stop at Liam’s hips. He gives a squeeze, his hands fitting perfectly around Liam’s hip bones, and Liam lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Richard Branson, eh?” Harry gives a soft chuckle. “I wish. Just imagine, we could go to the moon, Liam.”

Liam takes one of Harry hands in his own and leads him along The Scores. “The moon, let’s go. We’ll take that helicopter.”

Harry walks along beside him, bumping their shoulders together. “Yes. Helicopters. That’s exactly how people go to the moon.”

About halfway through dinner, Liam sits back in his chair and looks around. As expected, he hasn’t eaten much of his risotto, but he hasn’t had much to drink either, meaning he’ll probably be hangover-free for graduation tomorrow.

Harry had spent some time chatting with Liam’s sisters earlier; they had descended on him like a pair of ravenous hawks. Now he appears to be charming Liam’s parents, and Ruth and Nicola make their way over to Liam’s side of the table, ostensibly to say hello, but really to corner him.

“So." Nicola sets a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

“Harry is much more attractive in person,” Ruth says, elbowing Liam in the ribs.

“Keep your voice down,” Liam shushes, elbowing her back. “And hey, I thought you said he was fit!”

“I was trying to be supportive. But now I see that he really is fit, so I’m genuinely happy for you.”

“It sounds like you’ve really taken all of his good qualities into consideration,” Liam deadpans.

“He seems smart enough,” Nicola interjects. “But a little unfocused. He said he has no idea what he wants to do after he’s finished with school.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m any different.” Liam shrugs. “I don’t have a job lined up yet. I can’t really fault him for being the same way.”

“You’ll be going into work with dad,” Ruth cackles. “Dead boring.”

“Yes, probably,” Liam heaves a sigh.

Nicola rubs gently at Liam’s back. “The two of us had some words with Harry. Now he knows to treat you right. No one messes with the baby brother.” 

Nicola and Ruth high five across Liam, and he stares in horror between the two of them. “Oh god, what have you said? It wasn’t too embarrassing, was it? I hope you didn’t mention his family’s money.”

“Liam, please,” Nicola admonishes. “We’re not completely tactless.”

“How much has he got though?” Ruth hisses. “You should find out. These are the important questions.”

“What do you think this is, _Pride & Prejudice_? I have no idea how much he’s worth, and I don’t want to know either.” Ruth and Nicola start cackling and shaking Liam by the shoulders. “Mum!” Liam whines. “Make them stop!”

Liam’s mum tears herself away from Harry for a moment. “Girls, please. It would be a shame if you killed your brother before his graduation.”

Ruth gives him one last smack across the shoulder. “You’re so spoiled for attention just because you’re the baby.” But she gives him a kiss on the cheek as she stands up. “Nic, let’s order another bottle of that wine.”

Harry gives him a wink from across the table, then he turns to Liam’s father and starts in on a discussion about fishing. From his experience, Liam is sure that Harry knows nothing about fishing, but Liam’s dad is listening intently. Next to him, Liam’s mum is smiling serenely, glowing from Harry’s charm, and Liam has to admit that Harry is awfully good.

+

Graduation day is long, and Liam’s moment in the spotlight feels too brief to encompass all that he’s done over the past few years. Still, he cheers for Niall and Zayn as they claim their diplomas, too. And they all take pictures together out on the quad afterwards. 

Liam seeks out Professor Crawford, who surprises him by wrapping him in a hug. “You have my email, right? Please keep in touch, let me know what you’re doing.” He looks at Liam over top of his glasses now, a serious stare. “And let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I mean that sincerely, Liam. Best of luck.”

Liam’s family drop him off outside the front gate of the cottage. Harry opens the gate and dutifully stands out of the way on the other side while the family exchange goodbyes. The Paynes stare down the driveway with overwhelmed, curious looks at the large house. Liam hates it, and says goodbye a little frantically. “Calm down, you lot. I’ll be back home again in a few days. It’s not like you’ll never see me again.”

“But you’ve just graduated!” Liam’s mum wails before bursting into a fresh round of proud tears, and she and his sisters crush Liam with hugs. 

Liam’s dad looks like he’s on the verge of tears himself. He shoots a wary glance at the cottage, and gives Liam a protective clap on the back. “Be careful,” he says. “And have fun. When you come home, you can start going into work with me.”

“Er, thanks dad.” Liam tries to sound sincere, not wanting to be ungrateful about an opportunity to work.

“And I’ve got a present for you. Well, you already know what it is.” Liam smiles. The watch. “It’s in your room at home, waiting for you. You can decide what to do with it, whether you wear it or save it. I’ve usually kept it in its box, but you might want to wear it.”

“We’ll see, Dad. Thank you.” 

There’s one last family hug, and then Liam waves as his family pile into the taxi on their way to Edinburgh. _That’s it_ , Liam thinks, as he crosses the gateway, _I’ve graduated now_. The long, sweeping drive stretches out in front of him and it’s terrifying for a moment, but Harry is there to take him by the hand and walk side-by-side with him.

+

The Scottish coastal wind never lets up, even in early summer. It’s light out for twenty hours a day now, and yet, sitting out on the beach at the back of the cottage is not a gentle experience. The waves crash in, grey with white caps. The wet, heavy sand is rough, but Liam doesn’t mind.

Liam doesn’t mind, when he’s kneeling on the floor of Harry’s bedroom, taking Harry into his mouth as carefully as he can, when Harry pulls at the back of his hair where it’s getting a little long. It does hurt a little bit, but mostly it tingles in a way that Liam can feel echoing throughout his whole body. It lets him relax, open his jaw, and take Harry further in.

Harry is a perceptive teacher and partner. He doesn’t need the sunlight that begins filtering through the window around half two in the morning to be able to see what Liam responds to, what Liam needs. He knows enough now to go through a little routine of stroking through Liam’s hair, giving a little pull, and then smoothing it back down. Liam feels it as the sand must feel the waves breaking in, and then leaving with a caress as the tide draws out.

+

A black velvet box sits on Liam’s dresser at home, waiting for his return. Liam knows without even opening it that it’s the watch from his dad. His father had splurged on it when he had received his first promotion with his company, and he had saved it all these years.

Liam opens the box and is a little surprised to see that the watch is rose gold metal. He can’t picture his father wearing rose gold anything, and, indeed, he had never worn the watch himself. Liam has to wonder at his dad’s motivation for purchasing the watch in the first place. Maybe he had had this picture in mind the whole time: Liam as an adult, perched at the edge of his childhood bed, contemplating a watch and a new stage of his life.

Liam remembers Harry’s odd words about the watch: _Keeping time. That is important._ He still doesn’t quite know what Harry had meant, or what is has to do with the watch he’s currently holding. It’s a lot to think about, and Liam snaps the velvet box shut, content to save the watch for now.

Both Nicola and Ruth have moved away from home to their own flats, and Liam finds that it’s a bit much, spending all day at work with his dad, and then coming home to have his mum fuss over him. After two weeks he’s had enough, and he rings Harry out of desperation.

“Come visit,” Harry suggests immediately. “I’m in the countryside with my mother. She can’t stand London during the summer.”

“Do you always call your mum 'mother?'” Liam asks.

“No, sometimes Gemma and I just call her Anne. That’s her name. You should call her Anne too when you come down to visit.”

“Your family is weird.”

“Yes.” Liam can practically hear Harry grinning. “Aren’t you excited to meet them?”

“I’d characterize it more as 'slightly terrified' than excited, but sure.”

After another two weeks of working, Liam has a solid month’s worth of wages and he takes the train to meet Harry for a long weekend spent in Cheshire. Harry had only described it to Liam as “our family home.” It’s always difficult to figure out precisely what Harry means, and Liam has no idea what to expect. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be a castle.

Harry picks him up at the train station in his black Range Rover. Liam drops his bag on the ground, and they lean against the car, kissing hello. Liam wraps his hands around the back of Harry’s neck, scratching lightly at his hair, causing Harry to fall into him even further. Liam can sense that usual salt smell, that particular combination of Harry’s cologne and his skin. It puts Liam in mind of briny sea air, and in his mind’s eye, he sees the sandy beach leading to a stony pier. The two of them keep kissing until people around them are staring, until their lips are red and stinging, and, in his kiss-drunk daze, Liam is half-convinced that they’re stinging from the sea air. 

Liam comes back to reality as he breaks away from the kiss, and immediately buries his face in Harry’s neck. “I can’t meet your mum like this!” 

“Pull yourself together,” Harry instructs in a fake serious voice. He’s smiling and has one hand on Liam’s hip, and that’s enough to help for now.

They climb into the car and just sit for a little while, listening as Rudimental plays on the radio.

“I’m a bit nervous,” Liam says in an understatement. “I didn’t know what to wear.” He looks down at his dark wash jeans and plain white Oxford shirt. “This was the best I could do without looking too formal.” 

“Liam,” Harry laughs. “This isn’t _Downton Abbey_. You don’t need to dress for dinner or anything.”

“Well, I don’t know the rules!” Liam huffs.

“You look good.” Harry waggles his eyebrows and rests a hand on the inside of Liam’s thigh, a little bit comforting and a little bit teasing. “And don’t pretend that you’re not on your way to being posh yourself. You went to St Andrews, for god’s sake. You might as well be Prince William.”

“Does that make you Kate?”

Harry appears to think. “I haven’t modeled a mesh see-through dress for you yet.”

“We really should rectify that.” They both laugh for a minute, and then quiet down again. “It isn’t the same though,” Liam says into the silence. “I’m normal-posh. You’re posh-posh.”

Harry is quiet as he stares at Liam, pursing his lips together, considering his response. “I’m a bit nervous, too,” he admits. “When I’ve dated before—real dating, not fake dating models in the tabloids—it’s always been someone that my family already knows. My mother has always known their mother and father, what they do, where they went to school. You’re different, and I don’t know how she’ll react to that.”

“Great, this is really helping.”

“Hey." Harry leans over, kissing Liam softly on the mouth. “If she’s absolutely unbearable, we’ll just leave, alright?”

“Alright,” Liam whispers, striking a deal.

+

Harry’s “family home” turns out to be far less intimidating that Liam expected. There’s a front gate just like at the cottage, but the driveway here loops in a gentle curve and is shaded by trees. At the end of the drive sits a rambling, expansive house done in the Tudor style. It’s big, to be sure, but the overall impression it gives is one of comfort, not of striking elegance. Liam has to smile as he realizes that “family home” is the most accurate way of describing this.

Harry leaves his car parked in the drive and his mother, Anne, meets them just inside the front door.

“Harry, darling,” she gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Now," she turns to look at Liam, “please introduce me.”

Liam can see the family resemblance instantly. Harry’s familiar features are softened in a feminine way on Anne’s face. She has the exact same dark green eyes, crinkling a little bit around the corners from age. She’s wearing a casual black wrap dress, but Liam notes she’s also wearing lipstick and silver earrings, signaling that she’s not dressed down.

Harry sets a supporting hand at the center of Liam’s back. “This is Liam, my boyfriend. And Liam,” he turns to Liam with a cheeky grin, "please meet my mother.”

Anne smiles widely at Liam, and he thinks it’s genuine. “Liam, it’s lovely to meet you. Please call me Anne. My children do, even though I wish they wouldn’t.”

“That’s why we do it,” another voice pipes up. 

This voice belongs to a girl who must be Harry’s sister. She’s taller than Anne, but not quite as tall as Harry. If Anne’s features are a softer version of Harry, Gemma is the more sharp and angular version. Her hair falls around her face in smooth lines, and her shirtdress sits wrinkle-free and perfect on her figure. Liam is already terrified of her.

“And here’s my sister, kindly deciding to drop by. Gemma, this is Liam.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Liam.” Gemma nods to him before turning back to Harry. “I’m just passing through the hallway, is that allowed?”

Harry and Gemma pull a series of faces at each other that Liam doesn’t understand, but they must. Or maybe not, maybe it’s just a nonsense thing they do with each other. 

“Liam,” Anne interrupts her children with a smooth smile. “Let Harry take your bag upstairs for you. I’ve got dinner planned later. And Harry is supposed to pick out a film for us to watch after.”

“I didn’t realize we had activities planned,” Liam says to Harry.

“Anne does love a project, with activities and everything,” Harry grins at his mother. “Is that alright with you?” Harry asks, his hand still at Liam’s back.

“Depends what film you choose, to be honest,” Liam teases.

“Not _Love Actually_ again!” Gemma calls over her shoulder as she disappears into another room.

“I wouldn’t!” Harry shouts. “That’s only for Christmastime!”

Harry does carry Liam’s bag upstairs and brings him to one of the guest bedrooms. It’s painted a rich green, and has a matching dark mahogany bed frame, nightstand, and dresser. 

“You’re welcome to share my room, obviously,” Harry says. “But this is your room, you know, in case you need your own space.”

“That might be nice,” Liam says slowly. “To have my own space.” He sits down on the bed, bouncing on the mattress. “It’s not what I expected. Your mum seems nice. Your sister, on the other hand, is a bit scary.”

Harry laughs. “Gemma? Don’t let her fool you, she’s a big softie.”

“Maybe to you! You’re her little brother. She has every reason to be scary with me.”

“No she doesn’t.” Harry gives him a stern look. “Get out of your own head, Liam.”

Liam stretches out on the bed, stifling a yawn. “I know, you’re right.”

“Besides, you have it easy,” Harry says, sitting down on the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. “I had to deal with _both_ of your sisters cornering me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Liam says, wincing at the memory of Nicola’s and Ruth’s over-enthusiasm. “Can we just stay in here for a little while? No other family members allowed?”

“Yes, please,” Harry answers, kicking off his shoes and curling up next to Liam on the bed. They close their eyes. A nap seems like the best idea at the moment, as late afternoon sunlight filters through the window. “Don’t let Anne fool you either,” Harry whispers. Liam doesn’t respond or hear if Harry continues the thought, as he’s already drifted off to sleep. 

+

The nap turns out to be a mistake, as it means the two of them stay up late that night. They crowd back into Liam’s room after the film ( _Bridget Jones’ Diary_ ), sharing a bottle of wine from downstairs between them. They try to keep it down while they laugh. Then the bottle of wine is gone. Harry is kissing down Liam’s neck, and he continues, all the way down. Liam really tries to keep quiet then.

The result of all of this is that Liam wakes up at a decent hour the next morning, but Harry is still passed out next to him. Liam waits for a little while, even tries shaking Harry, but he’s sound asleep.

“Some help you are,” Liam says. Harry gives a light snore in response.

He didn’t want to have to do this, but his stomach is growling. So Liam throws on a pair of jeans and a plaid button down, hoping it’s acceptable breakfast attire, and heads downstairs by himself.

Anne is sitting alone at the long dining room table, a glass of orange juice in front of her, and her laptop and diary open. 

“Good morning, Liam,” she says, pushing her laptop away when she notices him. “I hope you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you,” he says, choosing a seat across the table from Anne. “Harry is still asleep. Maybe sleeping a little too well.”

“He never was very good at staying up late.” Anne laughs. “Always ruins him for the next day. Now, what would you like to eat?”

“Er,” Liam casts around for something simple, and he wonders for a wild moment if there’s a menu to choose from. “Eggs?” 

Anne gives him an understanding smile. “Gemma had scrambled eggs and toast earlier, would that be alright?”

“Perfect,” Liam says in relief. 

“I’ll tell Debbie.” Anne stands up to go into the kitchen and speak with the housekeeper.

Liam sits alone at the long table in the dining room for a few minutes. There’s a framed portrait of a man on the wall opposite him, and he considers it, wondering if it’s a Styles family relative, or simply some distant vice-regent. He also wonders if Debbie makes breakfast every morning, or maybe only on Saturday mornings. Or perhaps only for guests. Liam will have to ask Harry later, and he curses Harry again for sleeping so soundly.

Anne reappears carrying a glass of water and some orange juice for Liam. “Debbie will be right out with your eggs. And she’s making a fresh pot of coffee if you’d like that as well.”

“Thank you,” Liam says, stiffly. Being waited on like this is perhaps meant to make people feel more at ease, but it only makes Liam feel more nervous.

“So,” Anne takes her seat across from Liam again and levels him with a stare. “Harry tells me you like music, that it’s your passion.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever called music my passion,” Liam laughs. “But I suppose you’re right, it is. I haven’t played at all since graduating. I miss it.”

“What have you been doing with yourself since graduation?”

“Working for my dad. It’s a boring desk job, but I can’t complain about being employed.”

Anne nods and gives a sympathetic look. “Of course, but I’m guessing that it won’t do for something long term?”

“No, but I’m not sure what I’d like to do. I still haven’t got anything lined up for the future. It’s overwhelming to think about, and I guess I’m a bit unprepared.”

Anne considers him for a moment with an intense look that makes Liam feel fidgety. “Harry mentioned you’re thinking of moving to London,” she says, finally. “I could set you up with a couple of interviews there. Just something to get you started.”

“Oh no,” Liam protests immediately. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I’d like to,” Anne insists. “It would be absolutely no problem.” She pulls her diary towards her and taps her finger against it, thinking. “You met Harry at the Burns Night dinner, correct?”

“Yes.” Liam’s face feels hot. This isn’t where he envisioned this morning going at all.

“I’ll speak to Radhika over at the Trust, then. They do so much important fundraising for the arts. And you could be their expert on the musical side of things.”

“Well,” Liam hardly knows what to say. Anne is flicking through her diary looking for something. It seems impossible to stop her now that she’s got a hold of this idea. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t be silly.”

Debbie brings in the scrambled eggs and coffee then, and Liam has never been more grateful for a distraction.

+

After Harry finally wakes up later that morning, he takes Liam on a real tour of the house. They run into Gemma sitting among a pile of books and her laptop in the cozy den where they had watched the film last night. 

She shoos them away with a cry of “I’m working!” and Harry listens. 

“She’s working on her dissertation,” Harry explains, closing the door to the den. “She’s at SciencesPo in Paris. Writing some complicated thing about politics. None of us really understand it, but we pretend to. Lucky for you,” Harry nudges Liam in the ribs, "she comes home during the summer.” Liam elbows him back.

Most of the other rooms on the ground floor are bigger than the tiny den. A series of proper drawing rooms have impossibly high ceilings and stiff-looking pieces of furniture, some of which are covered with protective sheets. These are rooms that are meant to look impressive, not offer much home comfort.

Paintings line the walls in every room. Some are history paintings with complex mythological subject matter, but mainly the paintings are portraits of people, long since gone, but immortalized on the walls of this house. The various men and women look out of their gilded frames, watching Liam and Harry, making their own silent judgements.

“Are the people in these portraits your relatives?” Liam asks. This isn’t like a museum, there’s no label or information card tacked up alongside any of the paintings. He has no insight into these mysterious people. “Or were they just nice paintings?”

“Actually, I’m not sure,” Harry laughs. “Dad knows, they would be his relatives. But he mostly stays in London, he doesn’t come up here much anymore.”

“Because of your mum?”

Harry shifts his weight, thinking. “He always says Anne, Debbie, and Paul keep the house in better shape than he ever could. I think he’s a bit tired of it. He spent so much time here when he was younger. Come to think of it, these old paintings probably are all relatives. I’m sure he wanted to escape them.”

“I can imagine,” Liam says, staring up at the long line of portraits. They’ve been here for a century or more, an inescapable row of eyes looking down, observing and judging. It’s easy to imagine how someone might want a change of view.

There’s the sharp clack of high heels clicking on the floor, and Anne comes into view around a corner.

“Liam,” she says, smiling. “I wanted to let you know, I’ve just spoken with Radhika. I’ve given her your phone number, so expect her to contact you this coming week.”

“Oh, that’s great. Thank you,” Liam tries to be as polite as he can, but he does wonder how Anne got a hold of his number.

Anne beams at him. She and Harry chat for a minute, and then she disappears back around the corner.

Harry frowns, turning to him. “What was that about?”

“You missed a lot at breakfast this morning,” Liam laughs. He glances up at the line of portraits watching them. “Can we go outside and talk?”

It’s always been easier somehow to speak with Harry outside, to parse out what he means as the wind whips around the two of them, letting his words rattle and then settle around them. They wave to Paul, who’s busy tending to some weeds, and then they head towards a line of trees that mark the back of the property. This time Liam needs to explain something to Harry, and he already feels more free to speak in the open air.

“So, your mum offered to help me look for a job.”

Harry laughs. “I did say, Anne loves a project. You must be her new one.”

“I’m hardly qualified for anything. I feel a bit shit that she’s trying to do anything on my behalf.”

Harry shakes his head. “Hardly qualified for anything? Listen, you have a degree from a renowned university. And what is it that you do for your dad? At his office?”

“Well,” Liam hesitates. “I mainly stalk Niall’s twitter. He tweets a lot. I’m afraid he might be addicted.”

“So you have experience with social media, then,” Harry says with a wink. “What are you meant to be doing?”

“Filing. Answering phones.”

“You have experience with tasks such as office organization. These are some sought after skills, so far.”

“Sometimes I’m even allowed to type out a memo and email it around,” Liam says, getting in the spirit.

“Also skilled with inter-office communications.”

Liam takes a step toward Harry. “Would you hire me?”

Harry slides a hand up Liam’s thigh, teasing a little, and then not teasing at all as he swoops in to grab Liam’s dick. “I might do. Might need to see what other skills you have first, though. During a personal, one-on-one session.”

Liam gives a laugh. “You’re a con-artist.”

“Darling,” Harry says in a matter-of-fact voice, as he palms at Liam’s dick through his trousers. “You absolutely love it.”

As Liam rocks his hips in closer to Harry, he has to admit that he does.

+

Radhika from the Cultural Trust has sharply-bobbed, shiny dark hair that sits just above her shoulders. Her navy blue sleeveless dress looks immaculate and perfectly wrinkle-free even as she takes a seat across from Liam at a small table in the corner of her office. Liam might be intimidated by this sleek professionalism, but she also has a bright voice that reminds Liam of Niall, and immediately puts him at ease. 

They chat lightly for a few minutes about university and the hectic madness of graduating. Then she surveys Liam with a serious look, her pen poised over a legal pad. “So, our next fundraising project is a cocktail event to take place in November. It’s still only summer, but we need to begin putting a guest list together so that we can send the invitations to the printer as early as possible. Do you think you could help with that?”

Liam clears his throat. “I once planned a surprise party for one of my sister’s birthdays.” There’s a twinge at the corner of Radhika’s mouth, and Liam guesses that’s as good of a reaction as he’s likely to get. “Yes,” he adds, changing his tone of voice. “How many attendees are you expecting?”

Radhika’s shoulders relax at his more serious question. “This is going to be a smaller event for us. Only about two-hundred people. However, that means we’ll still have to send out about five hundred invites. People are rubbish with RSVPing.”

Liam gives a little chuckle. “I found that, too. With my sister’s birthday party.” Radhika gives a small smile this time. “Have you got a venue picked out already?”

Radhika leans across the table, warming to Liam’s genuine questions. “We’re in talks with an art gallery, but nothing is finalized yet. Obviously that’s one more thing to take care of before formal invites go out.” 

She sighs as though remembering that this is one more detail for her to take care of after this meeting with Liam. This job interview is simply one more entry on her to-do list today, and in that moment, Liam feels that he really does want to work here, wants to help this sharp, interesting woman succeed with her event. 

Radhika makes a note of something on her legal pad, and then looks back up at Liam. “Anne told me that you attended the Burns Dinner in January?”

“I did,” Liam confirms. “It was lovely. A really nice night in Edinburgh.”

“That’s a much bigger event, as I’m sure you saw. We usually have about five-hundred guests, and it generally raises a decent amount of money. People do love to turn out for a bit of whisky and poetry. But,” she gives a full smile, “I think we can hold off on starting that guest list for another month or so. When are you able to start?”

She tacks the question on at the end of her speech, and Liam gives a start at the directness of it. “Oh! I’m still not moved down to London full-time, but I should be able to start within a couple of weeks?”

Radhika gives a nod. “Perfect. Let me have your email, and I’ll start copying you in on anything relevant. Names of people we can’t forget to invite even though they aren’t likely to show, possible sponsors, things like that.”

Liam writes down his email address and leaves the office in a daze. Once out on the street he heads toward the Starbucks where he and Harry had arranged to meet afterwards. He pulls out his phone and texts Harry.

_on my wayyyy… i thiiink i have a job ??? !!!_

+

Liam’s mum is predictably weepy when he breaks the news about his new job, and reveals that he’s come back home for one final time. Liam’s dad looks at him like _give her a break_. And Liam knows that it must be difficult for her, as he’s the baby and the last to move out, so he makes an effort to be sympathetic, and not talk too much or too excitedly about London. 

Sometime during the mayhem of him trying to pack and clean out his childhood room, Ruth and Nicola come over to visit, and Nicola steps in to take him aside. She sits down next to him on his bed with a serious look in her eye that has Liam worried for a moment. 

“I know you said Harry’s mum helped you get this job,” she begins, and Liam nods. “That was really kind of her, but you know that doesn’t mean that you have to accept it, right?”

“Is that what this is about?” Liam laughs. “I know, but I do want this job. Charity and fundraising isn’t exactly something I’d considered before, but this seems like it will be good. And at least it’s helping the arts.”

“Okay.” Nicola isn’t going to fight him about it. “I just had to make sure to say it. Mum and Dad won’t say it, they’re too proud of you. And Ruth wouldn’t say it because she’s still plotting for you to take Harry for all his money’s worth.”

Liam laughs and gives a mild eyeroll. “Anne seems nice, actually. She’d like you. She’d hate Ruth, though.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Bastards, I can hear you!” Ruth shouts from across the hall where she’s supposed to be taking down some posters tacked up on the wall in her old bedroom.

Liam and Nicola creep across the hallway, trying to sneak up on Ruth. Inevitably, a pillow fight breaks out, because even though they’re all adults now, they’re also siblings spending time together at their childhood home. His sisters team up against him to take him down, and Liam knows he should have seen that coming. 

That’s how Liam spends his last night at home: with his sisters, both fighting, and then all cleaning up the mess together. 

+

Harry had suggested right away that Liam move in to his family’s townhouse in London, at least at first while he gets settled.

“Are you sure your dad won’t mind?” Liam had asked, feeling vaguely nervous about the shadowy figure of Mr. Styles, whom he has yet to meet.

“Of course not,” Harry assured. “He’s up at the cottage right now, anyway. He’s golfing at this place, you may have heard of it, it’s called St Andrews.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Liam joked.

“Don’t worry, it’s a rubbish university. Wouldn’t want to meet anyone who graduated from there.” 

“Hey! Fuck you, Oxford.”

“I wish you would,” Harry shot back, his voice pitched low and edging toward needy.

That had settled it for Liam. He moves into the townhouse with Harry without further protest, because it’s been difficult all these months, dating Harry and not being with him every day. He has wondered from time to time if Harry felt the same way. After all, Harry is constantly traveling, and maybe he doesn’t miss people and things in the same way that Liam does. But that hint of neediness struck Liam like a speeding arrow. It’s a sign that Harry craves being as close to Liam as Liam does with him, and now they have the opportunity to live as closely as they want.

The first thing that Liam notices about the Styles’ townhouse is that, where contemporary art decorates the walls of the cottage, and portraits line the walls of the family home, there is an absence of art here. There are framed photographs of Gemma and Harry on a table in the entryway, and again in the sitting room. The walls themselves are a neutral ivory color and completely bare.

The house is a starkly clean-looking space. The kitchen looks brand-new with stainless steel countertops and appliances. A huge flatscreen television takes up one wall in the den, while a Mac desktop takes up space on a desk in the corner of the room. The whole place reads as coldly masculine to Liam’s eyes. He can imagine his own mum absolutely hating the place, criticizing its sleek modernism and lack of real home comfort.

The only sign of artwork is an odd little sculpture on the coffee table in the sitting room. Liam feels compelled to point it out. “What’s this, then?”

Harry bursts out laughing. “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s actually a copy of a Damien Hirst. Dad’s business partners would be so disappointed if they knew it wasn’t the real thing.”

“I’m disappointed it’s not the real thing!” Liam protests, mock outraged. “I’m not even entirely sure who Damien Hirst is, actually. But I always expect the real thing.”

“Oh, Liam,” Harry throws his arm around Liam’s shoulder. “That’s why I love you. Not afraid to admit you don’t know Damien Hirst.”

Liam blinks, looking between the copy sculpture and Harry. The importance of what’s just been said, the _I love you_ that’s couched in a joke, isn’t lost on Liam. He looks at Harry’s lips, both corners of his mouth turned up in a big smile. He raises his gaze to Harry’s eyes. Harry is staring at him intently, and there’s a serious aspect to his look that belies his smile.

Liam kisses him, quick, but full on the mouth. “Incidentally, that isn’t why I love you.” It’s the truth more than it’s a joke, and he means the last three words in particular.

Harry seems to know this because he bursts out laughing again. Liam knows now that it isn’t Harry laughing at him, it’s Harry laughing because he loves to laugh and because, as he’s just said, he loves Liam.

They fall to the floor in a mess, gangly limbs splayed all over the place. They can barely get a hold of each other or themselves, as they’re laughing too hard over absolutely nothing. And Liam begins to think that the townhouse has a bit of homey charm all its own.

+

Some people might not like crowding onto the tube in the early morning rush to work, but Liam savors it. During the summer he had ridden into work with his dad, which meant that he was often stuck at the office quite late at the end of the day, waiting until his dad was ready to leave. It’s just the beginning of autumn now, and it’s the perfect time for a fresh start. So, every morning Liam walks through the crisp September air to the tube station, puts his headphones in, and lets Jay-Z pump him up for the day as the train hurtles beneath the streets of London.

Liam enjoys being on time for work. He enjoys sitting at his own desk, folding his hands on top of it, trying to give off a serious, professional air while Radhika explains each day’s tasks to him. He’s aware that his job isn’t terribly important and that, as the new guy, he gets landed with tasks other people don’t want to do.

However, he’s allowed to pick out the color and design for the cocktail event invites, which is exciting. It’s not very much power, certainly not like signing a bill into law or anything. Still, when the invites arrive fresh from the printers, a little thrill runs through Liam when he opens the box to see a whole pile of them done up in a dusty pale blue color with black cursive script. It’s exactly what he had asked for, and now these will be sent out to hundreds of people.

Radhika declares the invites to be “perfect” and Liam thinks that he really likes his new job.

+

Harry goes back to Oxford when term begins again, but as his last class of the week ends at noon on Thursday, and with a free day on Fridays, he makes a habit of spending the weekends in London with Liam. With Harry returning to the townhouse every weekend now, Liam doesn’t make an effort to find his own place to live. It’s too convenient of a meeting place for them when they don’t always have a lot of time to spend together. Plus, it reminds Liam of Harry, that salt sweat scent lingering in Harry’s bedroom, a familiar comfort.

Liam meets Harry’s father the second full week that Harry is gone. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Mr. Styles says, in a deep voice. “Harry’s told me quite a bit about you.” He walks with Liam into the kitchen, trying to take off his trenchcoat while at the same time still clutching onto his briefcase.

“Likewise,” Liam says, even though Harry has told him almost nothing about his father. “Oh,” Liam says, as Harry’s dad opens the fridge. “I bought some groceries, stocked the fridge a little bit. I hope you don’t mind.”

Harry’s dad throws back his head in a laugh, and Liam can see where Harry gets it from. “I suppose I don’t have the most well-stocked kitchen, do I? I’m out of town so often, and, when I am home, I dine out most of the time. But you’re more than welcome to do whatever you like in the kitchen here, Liam. Make yourself at home.”

“Cheers,” Liam says, giving a polite laugh. 

After a pause, Liam thinks he can reasonably excuse himself, and goes to make his way upstairs. On his way out of the kitchen, he notices Mr. Styles’ briefcase. It’s brown leather with the letters _S & B_ embossed in a fancy script.

Liam knows he’s seen those initials and that font before, and he racks his brain as he walks upstairs. He’s seen initials like that sprawling out on monogrammed stationery. He’s seen them engraved on the side of a stone building, evoking a sense of long-standing success and stability. It clicks in Liam’s mind, and he rings Harry immediately.

“Styles & Burke!” he shouts into the phone when Harry picks up. “That’s your father’s company? The huge investment firm?”

“Hello to you, too,” Harry answers, sounding amused.

“You’re _that_ Styles?”

“Liam, how many Styles do you know?”

“Harry, I’m serious,” Liam pleads. “I’ve only just met your father, and I didn’t realize. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You didn’t realize what?”

“That he’s, you know, a big shot!”

Harry gives a raucous laugh. “You can’t think of him that way,” he instructs. “He’s just a normal dad, trying and mostly failing to relate to his children.”

“He also happens to be the chairman of a fairly massive international company. Christ, I think I’ve seen him being interviewed on Sky News before.” 

Liam is beginning to comprehend just why Harry’s family is well-known throughout so many social circles. Not quite the oldest of the landed gentry, nor the most nouveau of the business-driven wealthy, the Styles family is positioned right in the middle, and easily able to associate with both the old guard and the new. It must be an overwhelming amount of attention, and Liam can see how it might drive a daughter to defect to France. And also how it’s enough to spur a wider interest in the love life of an eligible son.

“Yes, well,” Harry says, after a pause. “Dad inherited the position. The company. Everything. He didn’t ask for it, or work for it. So you can’t really define him by any of that, I don’t think.”

“Are you next in line, then?” Liam asks. “Is this where the Oxford degree will be put to good use?”

“Oh god, no,” Harry insists. “I’d be rubbish. Gemma would be perfect for it, actually. She’s a bloody genius. But, like you saw, she’s up to her neck in the nuances of French politics or whatever. Who knows if she’ll decide to go for investment banking.”

Liam lets out a long breath as there’s another pause between them. “I’m sorry I just threw all that at you. Let me start again. Hey, how are you?”

“Hey,” and Liam hears Harry’s tone noticeably soften. “It’s alright. I should’ve told you what my father does, but it honestly didn’t occur to me to think of it as something noteworthy. He’s away a lot. And when he’s home, he’s just Dad, you know?”

Liam doesn’t know that Harry’s dad is just a dad in the same way that Liam’s own dad is. “It’s just a bit weird,” Liam tries to explain. “I’m living in his house, and you’re not even here half of the time.”

“Maybe I’ll just have to come up more often, then.”

“No, you already spend too much time away from school. You can’t miss your last year.”

“I don’t know when you became such an academic,” Harry huffs. “Besides, it’s my house. I can come visit whenever I like.” Harry’s tone is verging on petulant, and Liam really can’t argue. 

Because Liam has spent a lot of time living at various properties owned by Harry’s family over the past year, and it isn’t his place to tell Harry where or when he should visit one of his own homes. Harry seems to sense this, as his tone goes even softer. “Hey, we don’t even have to stay in when I come up this weekend. We’ll go out, yeah? We’ll do London like it’s never been done.”

Liam smiles to himself, even though Harry can’t see over the phone. Because, despite the whole weird situation, he really does look forward to the two of them spending all of their weekends together.

+

It turns out that Harry is a lot of fun to hang out with in London. He has friends with names like Grimmy and Poppy and Daisy. Even after meeting them, Liam isn’t convinced that they’re actually real people; with names like that, they may just be inventions of Harry’s imagination sprung to life. It doesn’t matter, as everyone in the city seems to know Harry anyway. Whether the two of them are strolling through the gilded halls of Harrod’s or simply a local Tesco, they always run into someone who is on friendly terms with Harry.

The friendliness extends to Liam, for which he’s grateful. He’s never met so many new people in his life, and he misses his uni friends. Niall is already in London doing an internship program, and so Zayn arranges to come down for a weekend before he gets too swamped with post-graduate work.

Naturally Harry invites them to stay over at the townhouse. “Part of a proper lads night!”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You’ve never done a proper lads night. Too busy fake-dating models and being the social butterfly.”

“What about you? Too focused on singing Justin Bieber karaoke to focus on getting drunk.”

“Timberlake!” Liam’s voice goes screechy as he takes offense. “Justin Timberlake karaoke. And that was one time.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “One time that I’ve seen.”

Liam bows his head, because there’s no use arguing the point when he does love a good Justin Timberlake sing-a-long.

It’s been about six months since that time in the kitchen of the cottage when the two of them acknowledged that they were really dating each other, and Liam still has the occasional trouble reading Harry’s body language and his moods. Harry is encouraging and optimistic, but also attuned to societal codes and etiquette in a way that Liam has never learned to be. He can’t tell if Harry is trying to fit in with these codes or break out. Maybe Harry himself doesn’t know, and the truth is that Liam doesn’t know what he himself is aiming to do either. The unknown leaves Liam in that delicate space, precariously balancing on the edge of the pier, caught between cold stone and deep water. In the end, he tries to create some kind of middle space where he and Harry can meet without knocking each other off-balance.

Liam looks back up at Harry now, his voice turned serious and earnest. “Thank you for letting my friends crash here for the weekend.”

Harry waves a hand, and he looks very much like his mother as she told Liam not to worry while she set him up with a job. It sends a tremor through Liam, thinking of the generosity of Harry and his family. Harry may not be nice, exactly. But he enjoys sharing things with other people without asking for much in return. Liam wonders how long that can last.

+

“Sorry,” Zayn is saying. “What’s the name of this place we’re supposed to be going?”

“Funky Buddha,” Liam announces, causing Zayn to send a dubious look over to Niall and Harry.

Harry gives a shrug. “I told Liam he should pick, and that’s where he wants to go.”

“It looks cool.” Liam tries to defend his choice. “I like the name. And it’s in Mayfair, it’s nearby. We won’t have to hike across town.”

Niall claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll go wherever you like, Payno. But if this turns out to be utter shit, all the drinks are on you, mate.”

With that encouraging remark in mind, the four of them head out to Funky Buddha. It turns out to be rather a small venue, without much going on in the way of decor. But none of that matters as they order drinks right away, and the drinks are _strong_. Two more rounds in, and it’s the best, most exciting place any of them have ever been.

“I guess I won’t be paying for everyone’s drinks after all,” Liam can’t help bragging.

“Shut up,” Zayn retorts. “Don’t look so smug. I’ll throw this drink in your face.”

“No!” Niall cries. “Such a waste of good alcohol.”

“Don’t make a scene,” is all Harry says. He’s laughing with his head thrown back, but Liam can see his teeth, and he knows that Harry means it.

Liam loses track of how many drinks he’s had. Zayn has had less to drink than the rest of them, but only because he’s spent half the night outside taking cigarette breaks. By this point, it’s well past midnight, and they all smell like that tried-and-true club mixture of cigarette smoke, sweat, and stale cologne. The four of them have been in each other’s space all night, leaning across the bar, sprawling on top of each other at one of the tables, and on the dance floor, so that Liam can smell Zayn’s cigarette smoke clinging to his own shirt. 

When even Niall, the venerable Irishman, looks like he’s shaky on his feet from drinking, it’s a unanimous decision to head home. As they make their way to the door, Harry grabs for Liam’s hand and holds on tight. Liam doesn’t mind, he could use the extra balance, actually. 

It’s when they step outside that things shift. There’s a photography flash. Then there’s a pause that seems to happen in slow-motion as everyone takes in the situation. And then there’s a whole eruption of blinding flashes, and _oh_. Liam squeezes into Harry’s grip as Harry keeps walking at a calm and steady pace, utterly unfazed, looking for a taxi.

Liam twists around looking for Niall and Zayn. Niall isn’t one for crowds building up suddenly like this, and the whole row of paparazzi following them can’t be fun for him. Luckily Zayn is there. He has their arms hooked together, steering Niall after Harry and Liam.

They bundle into a taxi, all four of them squished together across the bench seat in the back. Liam blinks into the dark, and he can still see fluorescent echoes of the camera flashes. He doesn’t feel drunk at all anymore.

“That was mental,” Niall announces.

“Do the paps just camp out there, or what?” Zayn asks.

“Er,” Niall starts. “I may have tweeted about going there. I’m sorry, but Funky Buddha. I mean, I was taking the piss out of the name. Do you reckon someone noticed the tweet?”

“Someone definitely noticed,” Harry speaks up. “Because I retweeted you.”

“Harry!” Liam gapes at him. “After a pap told you to be careful what you tweet?”

“It was sort of an experiment,” Harry explains. “I wanted to know just how careful. I wanted to know if they would notice a retweet, if they would care that I wasn’t out with models. I don’t know why they would care.” Harry is mainly talking to himself now.

Zayn reaches across to put a hand on his knee. “Mate, I hate to break it to you, but I reckon this means you’re a proper celeb yourself.” Harry groans.

“An experiment?” Liam repeats back to Harry, unwilling to let this slide.

“Yeah. It was a pretty stupid one.”

“Niall hates being confronted with crowds like that.” Liam’s tone is scolding in a way he’s never been with Harry before.

Harry swivels around to look at Niall. “I’m really sorry, Niall. I wasn’t thinking,” he apologizes, and he sounds genuinely contrite.

“It’s alright.” Niall gives him a small smile. “But next time you invite me out, I’m bringing my own entourage of security guards.”

Zayn laughs at Niall, and the two of them chat between themselves for a bit. Liam takes the opportunity to lean into Harry. He still smells like stale sweat, but Liam can detect that briny salt smell underneath, that essentially Harry scent. It’s unbearably comforting, and it thaws Liam’s scolding attitude.

“Hey,” he whispers to Harry. “Are you okay?”

Harry shifts in even closer to Liam, pressing their temples together. “Yeah. You?”

Liam’s vision has gone back to normal, all traces of blinding paparazzi camera flashes faded away. He had been concerned on Niall and Zayn’s behalf, but he has to acknowledge the fact that, for whatever reason, he really doesn’t mind the camera flashes himself. 

“Yeah,” Liam tells Harry. “I’m okay.”

+

Liam goes with Radhika on a site visit to The Brick Lane gallery two weeks before the Trust’s cocktail reception event to be held there. At the moment, the space doesn’t seem like much to look at: hardwood flooring, neutral cream colored walls, and a big window in front that lets light filter in from the street.

Radhika walks around the space, mapping out where to hang the paintings that will be auctioned off for the fundraiser. She lets Liam decide where to set up the bar and tables for refreshments.

“Oh, and, Liam,” she says, digging around in her purse for a pen. “I was thinking that we need some sort of light entertainment during cocktail hour. You know, before we auction off the art. What sort of musician do you reckon we should look into? Harps seem quite trendy at events right now, should we go for a harpist?”

Liam holds back a laugh, wondering if Radhika expects him to know all of London’s top harpists. “I think a harp might be quite a big instrument to fit into this space,” Liam cautions in as tactful a manner as he can. “We already have the artwork to be careful with. We might want a lighter instrument.”

“Violins!” Radhika cries before Liam can make any further suggestions. “You’re absolutely right, Liam. We ought to have a violinist.” She pats him on the shoulder and then makes a note in her diary. “Harps are far too wedding reception, anyway.”

Radhika and the gallery owner finalize everything, and Liam leaves, starting to feel a little bit excited about his first big test at his new job.

It all seems like a perfectly normal day, until that evening when it becomes apparent that someone, just a person passing on the street, had snapped a photograph of Liam through the window of the gallery. In the picture, Liam is standing quite the near the window (and he wonders how he didn’t notice anyone taking his picture), pointing to a spot on the gallery wall while Radhika and the gallery owner look on. It just so happens that Liam looks rather in-charge in this picture, when in reality, he was most likely asking a question, or reaffirming something the gallery owner had said.

The person who took the photo tweeted it to Harry, asking if this is his boyfriend. Harry, bored while down at uni for the week, answered yes, because, as he later tells Liam, the picture was quite sweet, and he liked seeing Liam looking so professional.

This somehow blows up as a news story among gossip sites, and the result is that there’s an article in the tabloids the next day titled: _Harry Styles Confirms Relationship! Sorry lads and ladies, he’s got a boyfriend._

Harry arrives in London for the weekend with a copy of the tabloid in question, and he and Liam spend the entire weekend laughing about it.

“We’ve been dating since March!” Harry cries.

“I know,” Liam laughs. “The paparazzi even have the pictures from back then to prove it. What did they think we were doing, running around half-naked, if not dating each other?”

“We didn’t even know what we were doing.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows, gives Liam a playful shove, and then reaches for Liam’s crotch in an exaggerated imitation of their flirty dickslapping. Liam yelps, overreacting to play along with Harry. Then they stop, just standing together and breathing hard.

“We were idiots,” Liam says. “We didn’t even know what we didn’t know.”

“Shhh,” Harry moves in closer. “You’re not making sense anymore. It’s time to stop talking, new-old boyfriend.” Liam finds that he really can’t argue, as Harry’s mouth meets his own.

But Liam saves that tabloid issue and, when he’s alone, he looks at the photograph of himself standing by the gallery window. It’s different to the other times Liam has appeared in the papers, the pictures from that first time up at the cottage, and the recent pictures outside of Funky Buddha, because, even though Harry’s name is attached to this article, the picture is all Liam. As he continues to look at the picture, the corner of Liam’s mouth pulls up into a smile.

+

The cocktail reception is a success if attendance is anything to go by. The space is jam-packed with people wearing outfits ranging from prim and proper to arty-eccentric. The crowd is so big that Radhika looks a bit harried, and once everyone seems to be mingling and happily listening to the violin music, she makes Liam and Harry stand in front of her while she downs a shot of vodka.

Harry is technically there as a guest, but he’s happy to stay by Liam’s side, helping him to make sure that the bidding on the artwork is running smoothly, and that the tables of refreshments aren’t running low. He enjoys the cheese table a little too much, and Liam smacks his hand.

“Leave some for the other guests.”

Harry covers his mouth as he laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t realize there was a limit on cheese.” Liam tries to glare at him but ends up chuckling. “Anyway,” Harry continues. “I’m going to ruin my appetite. I’ve booked us dinner for after this. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Did you?” Liam asks. “I am surprised. Go on, what restaurant is it?”

Harry merely shakes his head and holds a finger to his mouth. “You’ll like it. It’s properly nice.”

“How do you know I’ll like it?” Liam counters, nudging Harry gently in the ribs.

“Because I know you,” Harry says with absolute confidence. “I know you by now. And because you like me, so I think you’ll like what I have planned.”

“I like you? Hang on, I don’t think we’ve established that at all.”

“Liam!” a voice hisses from behind the two boys, and they both turn around to see Radhika, looking even more frazzled than before. “I’m sorry to interrupt whatever kind of flirting this is with your boyfriend, but we’re actually having a little bit of an emergency.”

Harry takes a tactful step back, giving Liam some privacy while talking to his boss. “What’s wrong?” Liam asks with some alarm.

“Our emcee for the auction has had to leave, some sort of family emergency, apparently. I was wondering if you could step in and do it?” Liam sways on the spot. “You’d just have to read out the names of the winners, and thank everyone for coming.”

“Er,” Liam has a feeling this is the sort of thing that’s phrased as a question but is impossible to refuse. He doesn’t particularly want to speak in front of two-hundred people, but there’s a crease forming down Radhika’s forehead like she’s really worried.

“It’s actually rather urgent,” Radhika continues. “We need to start now, before people have had too much to drink to pay attention.”

“Okay, I guess…” Liam turns to Harry in a confused daze.

Harry flashes him a smile. It’s for show, Liam can tell, a dazzling show of confidence. But he also leans in, wrapping an arm around Liam’s waist, finding Liam’s hipbone and giving a quick squeeze before pulling away. That’s not for show, that’s just for Liam, and it gives him the little push he needs to follow Radhika over to the podium at the center of the room.

Liam switches the microphone on. People towards the front of the gallery notice that he’s about to speak and quiet down themselves, and a hush gradually falls over the whole gathered crowd.

“Good evening,” Liam says into the mic. “I’m sorry to interrupt your chatting with some boring business, but I’ll try to be quick.” He gives an indulgent smile, and notices a few people towards the front smiling back at him. “We’re here tonight to support some extremely talented young artists, and on behalf of the Cultural Trust, we want to thank everyone for being here tonight to show your support.” There’s a smattering of applause, and Liam pauses to let it happen. If the crowd wants to congratulate themselves, they’re more than welcome. “Now,” Liam continues. “The real business of the evening is here. Let’s see who’s won the chance to take home some truly fantastic art!”

There’s more applause as Radhika organizes the bidding cards with the winners’ names, and Liam reads them out. Liam has never given much thought to public speaking, has never had a reason to before this night. To his surprise, he finds that he enjoys it. It’s not that he’s saying anything of particular interest, but the crowd is paying attention to him. Everyone seems to be just tipsy enough on cocktails to be pleasant. When Liam looks up, he sees the crowd blinking back at him with polite curiosity, and it’s nice to see the pleased smiles breaking out over the faces of the winners.

And it’s nice in a different way to look out and see Harry standing towards the back, leaning against a pillar, his dark green eyes burning out across the room. It makes something in Liam’s stomach ripple, and he has a vision of this happening at future events: himself in the spotlight, while Harry watches him from the back of the room with a look of pride, waiting to whisk him away to dinner where there won’t be a crowd, where it will be just the two of them. Then, sitting across the intimate table from each other, Harry won’t be looking at Liam with only a look of pride. There will be something else bubbling to the surface in Harry green eyes, just as it’s bubbling in Liam’s stomach right now. Something like deeply-felt desire.

+

Christmas comes, and Liam takes a few days off to go home, while Harry goes to stay in Cheshire with his mum.

Liam, Ruth, and Nicola all stay over on Christmas Eve, and for a little while, it’s like nothing has changed. There’s a fire roaring in the hearth, Liam’s dad is becoming pleasantly drunk on sherry, and Liam’s mum keeps mentioning that she’s excited to see Pasha on the _Strictly_ Christmas special.

His parents retire to bed, and Liam and his sisters are left sitting around the Christmas tree, sharing their own bottle of wine.

“So,” Nicola starts, leaning in toward Liam. “How are you doing, really?”

“Don’t sugarcoat it,” Ruth says. “We’re not mum and dad, you can tell us.”

“You guys,” Liam laughs. “There’s nothing to sugarcoat, I’m actually really good. My job isn’t bad at all. My boss is a bit funny, but I think I really like her. And Harry’s good, too. He’s great, actually. It’s really nice being with him in London.”

Nicola and Ruth exchange a look, assessing the truth of this statement. “You disgust me,” Ruth declares, while Nicola gives his elbow a gentle squeeze. Then the two of them launch into a lengthy discussion of all their problems and worries, while Liam mostly smiles and helps himself to the rest of the wine.

Liam travels to Cheshire the day after Boxing Day to meet Harry, and then they’ll both go back to London for New Year’s. Anne and Gemma are both around, although Harry’s dad remains absent for the moment. Anne greets Liam with an enthusiastic hug, which rather takes him by surprise, while Gemma gives him a small smile before disappearing behind a stack of books.

“I hear nothing but raves about you, Liam!” Anne informs him over tea.

“I’m sure you don’t.”

“Yes,” Anne nods. “The cocktail fundraiser did well, the Board is very pleased. And I hope you’re ready for the Burns Dinner coming up. All the funding is going towards such a nice charity promoting literacy this year.”

“It’s coming up a bit too quickly after the Christmas holidays,” Liam gives nervous laugh, feeling put on the spot by Anne. “But yes, we’re excited for it.” 

“That’s enough business talk,” Harry interrupts, sensing Liam’s discomfort. “We actually have something to give Liam, if you’ll remember.”

Liam looks up with some trepidation. “Do you?” 

“Oh yes,” Anne smiles. “It’s still under the tree. Harry, will you go grab it? And tell Gemma to come in here as well.”

A few minutes later Harry returns to hand Liam an immaculately-wrapped rectangular box. Liam spares a moment to wonder whether Anne or Debbie had wrapped this, but then thinks that’s a bit mean. 

When he opens the box, Liam sees that it’s a medium-sized framed photograph of himself and Harry. “Oh,” he says, stupidly. “It’s from the Burns Dinner.” 

“Several photographs from that dinner were sent to the house,” Anne explains. “I tossed them aside without thinking. When I came across them later, I realized that you might want to have one for yourself.”

“That one was definitely the best of the lot,” Harry says, pointing to the photograph. “You should’ve seen the others, we looked ridiculous.” Harry pulls a face and puffs up his hair, imitating himself.

Liam smiles, and then looks down to examine the picture. The photograph is of Liam and Harry in side profile, with Harry leaning in to fix Liam’s bowtie. Harry’s eyebrows look drawn in concentration, and he’s not looking Liam in the face, rather focusing on the bowtie. 

Liam, however, is staring at Harry. The picture seems to have been snapped just at the moment when’s Liam’s expression is changing, shifting from frustration with this stranger to something softer. “This was the best of the bunch, eh?” He asks.

“I’m afraid so.” Harry grins at him.

“Thank you,” Liam replies, making sure to include Anne in this.

Gemma appears in the room just then. “Did you want something?” She asks her mother.

“Yes, I wanted to tell both of you,” Anne looks between her children. “Your father is coming up, he’ll be here soon. We have some business to discuss with Paul, terribly boring things to do with the house. Anyway, he’s probably going to stay for dinner. Gemma, I don’t know if you’ll see him again before you go back to Paris, so make sure to be friendly with him.”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “I did see him just before Christmas, when I stopped in London before coming up here.”

“Well,” Anne starts to say.

“Anyway,” Gemma plows on. “Dad’s going to make an offer on that flat in Paris. He told me. The one in the 6th, right off boulevard Saint-Germain.”

Anne blinks. “He should do that,” she says in a slow, controlled voice. “It would be nice for you to have somewhere to stay there permanently instead of paying rent.”

Liam shifts in his seat, feeling uncomfortable watching this exchange. It feels like something private, something that he isn’t supposed to understand, taking place between mother and daughter. Maybe it’s about power dynamics, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about having separated parents and multiple family homes. His family only have the old house and the new house, it’s nothing more complicated than that.

Liam reaches for Harry’s arm. “I’m going to take this upstairs,” he says, lifting the picture.

“I’ll go with you,” Harry says, seeming relieved to make an escape himself, and that makes Liam feel better.

Later, Liam and Harry sneak outside in the winter dusk. They run around to keep warm, and then run into each other, falling into each other, and it’s a new way to keep warm. Liam buries his hands in the back pockets of Harry’s jeans, and Harry sneaks his hands up underneath Liam’s coat. His cold fingers prickle against Liam’s skin, and their mouths sting from both the bite of the winter air and each other’s lips and teeth. Liam melts into it like he’s never been quite so warm and comfortable as he is now, as a heavy December darkness falls around them. 

On their way back inside, Harry stops to take off his wellies and his jacket. Liam continues on down the hallway by himself. He passes the dining room, the door halfway open, and he pauses for a moment as he sees Harry’s parents sat at the table with Paul. The three of them are clearly immersed in a discussion, and it strikes Liam that it looks very much like a business meeting. Even the body language looks slightly professional. Harry’s parents aren’t leaning in toward each other, there’s no sign of their history together.

Liam startles as he realizes that he’s sort of spying, and he continues down the hallway before anyone can catch him. His head feels heavy, spinning with questions about relationships in general, about how they can sometimes be obvious to a casual observer, like the relationship between his own parents. But then, other times, relationships are hard to read. 

He thinks of the framed photograph Harry had just given him, now tucked into his suitcase. The moment in that picture marked the start of a relationship, although neither Liam nor Harry knew it at the time. He has to wonder how his and Harry’s relationship looks to an outsider, what someone casually flipping through a gossip magazine might think of them. He thinks that maybe the expression on his own face caught in the photograph, that transition from a harder outside shell to something softer, marks the beginning of his own attempt to read his relationship with Harry. 

Back upstairs, Liam looks at the photograph again. He had told Nicola and Ruth that being with Harry was great, but that hardly describes anything at all. The truth is that he and Harry have always been both harsh and gentle with each other. They never needed to settle in and get comfortable with each other in that way, because there was something a little discordant and rough between them right from the beginning. Liam doesn’t know what that says about them, or if maybe they’ve settled into each other in other ways. Liam has to admit, when presented with a picture of himself and Harry, he really doesn’t know what any of it means.

+

Edinburgh on the twenty-fifth of January is not the most welcoming of sights. The Scott Monument cuts a stark, forbidding shape in the sky as the weak winter sun filters through. Dusk creeps in gradually, and then true darkness seems to fall all at once, ushering in what is sure to be a whisky-cozy Burns Night. 

Liam is prepared this time around. Harry has reserved a room for the two of them at the Balmoral, so that they can stumble upstairs after the party, mischievously raid the snacks and alcohol from the minibar, and take full advantage of a luxurious king-sized bed.

And Liam is better with tuxedo this time, although Harry is there to check it, just in case.

Down in the ballroom Radhika and several Balmoral staff members are in a flurry. Liam knows he should be helping, that it’s almost time for guests to begin arriving, but he gravitates toward the grand piano, still positioned in one corner of the room, just like last time. He sits down on the bench, reveling in the way the keys feel under his fingers. It’s been so long since he’s played properly at all, let alone played in such a magnificent setting. 

Liam doesn’t know how long he spends playing (a jazzy piece that he half remembers, and half invents) before Radhika comes over. “While live music is a truly lovely way to set up for an event, we do need some help, Liam. Could you please make sure there’s a program book at every seat?”

“Of course.” Liam stands up immediately, flexing his fingers, shaking the music out of his muscles.

Radhika is about to walk away when she turns back and looks him in the eye. “That really was quite good, you know.” She’s giving Liam a look like maybe she thinks he’s been holding out on her. Liam can’t quite decipher it. 

“Thank you,” is all he says with a smile and a shrug.

Soon the ballroom is overflowing with guests, and the Glenfiddich is already being poured with a very free hand. Liam making his way across the room to find Harry when he runs into a familiar face.

“Professor Crawford!” he cries, in some surprise, although Crawford is probably the last person he should be surprised to see here.

“Liam!” Crawford cries, adjusting his glasses. “How nice to see you. And, please, there’s no need to call me professor anymore. You’re looking very well. And I hear you’ve had a hand in planning this evening?” Crawford holds out his arm, seeming to indicate the whole expansive room and everyone in it.

Liam grins. “I did a bit. It’s so odd that I was a guest here just last year, and now I’m working on the other side of it.”

Crawford smiles, and then adjusts his glasses again, his expression suddenly turning serious. “Are you enjoying your work?”

“Well,” Liam thinks. “Yes. It’s helping the arts.”

“You know,” Crawford begins in a thoughtful tone. “Many opportunities pass my desk, apprenticeships, fellowships, things of that nature.” Liam nods, but has no idea where Crawford is going with this. “I saw one recently that made me think of you: a fellowship opportunity for young musicians with the symphony orchestra.”

“That would be great!” Liam exclaims.

“Yes,” Crawford says, looking around the room for a moment. He looks as though he’s sad about something and Liam doesn’t know why. “I just want you to be excited and passionate about what you’re doing, Liam.”

“I am happy with my job,” Liam says, meeting Crawford’s gaze, and making a decision in the moment. “But, I’d be interested in hearing more about this fellowship.”

This seems to satisfy Crawford, as he gives a smile and claps Liam on the back. “Send me an email on Monday reminding me, and I’ll forward you the details.” 

Crawford melts away into the crowd, and Harry materializes to take his place. 

“Were you talking to Crawford without me?” Harry demands.

“Oh, I forgot,” Liam laughs. “You have a crush on him.”

“An academic crush.”

“Sure, darling.” Liam pats Harry on the shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

The same photographers are at the event again this year, circling around the crowd with their cameras. Liam and Harry are happy to pose for pictures together this time, standing side-by-side, not needing to tell each other to smile. 

“Thank you,” Harry tells the photographer after they’ve gotten multiple shots. “If we’re lucky, maybe one of those will turn out decently,” he says under his breath to Liam.

“Better than last year,” Liam chuckles.

It’s Liam’s job to make the opening remarks as dinner begins. He doesn’t have to say much, just welcome everyone to the event, and introduce the keynote speaker. Still, he relishes his few moments at the podium. That moment when a hush falls over the room is similar to the hush that falls just before performing music, and Liam thinks of this as a different sort of performance. He’s making a connection with the crowd as he smiles, and various people sitting toward front smile back at him. And then, of course, there’s Harry, his smile visible even though he’s sat toward the back of the room.

After the keynote speaker finishes, both the socializing and the drinking take on a more urgent aspect. People are circulating around the room instead of staying seated at their tables in order to socialize or to chase the wait staff down to request more drinks.

Liam knows he should seek out Radhika to check if she needs help. There’s probably something to be cleaned up and organized, or a guest with a question to be sorted. Liam knows this, and, yet, he can’t help staying still next to Harry, surveying the room with him.

“Ah,” Harry comments, his eyes lighting up. 

“What is it?” Liam asks, following his gaze.

The more appropriate question might be _who is it?_ , but Liam can tell where Harry’s gaze has fallen. The crowd has parted a couple of tables ahead of them to reveal one man standing in front of a group of people. He’s holding both hands out in front of him, gesticulating wildly, clearly telling a lively story. The group clustered in front of him appear to be hanging on his every word, and all laugh in unison at the appropriate moment in the story. Liam can’t see much of the man in side profile, but his hair looks to be meticulously done up, and his features look rather sharp.

“It’s that young politician,” Harry explains. “Tomlinson something. Gemma has mentioned him. Have you heard of him? I’d be interested to meet him.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “I don’t really follow politics. And neither do you, I thought.”

“No, but this is an intriguing case. He’s so young, for one thing. And his education, University of Manchester.” Harry gives a sniff, clearly revealing what he thinks of that degree.

“Ah,” Liam nods as comprehension dawns on him. “I’ve never seen you be really snobby before.” He pokes at Harry’s cheek, and then softens his tone. “Not everyone can go to Oxford, you know. Then it wouldn’t be elite.”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry swats Liam’s hand away. “That isn’t what I mean. I don’t give a fuck about Oxford being elite.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

“I’m trying to be realistic. Usually to rise in the ranks, you’d need to have some sort of money, or family connections, or an impressive educational background. Preferably all three, if we’re being completely honest. I just wonder how he expects to make it.”

Liam turns his gaze back to this new politician. He doesn’t look much older than Liam or Harry, but Liam can sense there’s something about him that’s different, that’s lacking in himself and Harry. It’s visible around the edges of his mouth, the glimpse of fatally sharp teeth, as he speaks. It’s not just regular ambition. It’s the look of absolute, unerring tenacity. 

“He looks like he has plenty of determination,” Liam says. “That might be enough.” 

“Determination is a start. I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Liam turns and gives Harry a hard look. “You’re usually so encouraging, what’s going on with you?” He decides to try for a joke. “Have you decided you’re a Tory, after all? Are you going to oppose him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Harry seems legitimately scandalized. “I love my dad, but I could never be a Tory like he is.” Harry gives an odd little laugh. “Nothing like politics to make me cynical. This country makes me cynical sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Liam hums. He wraps an arm around Harry’s back and thinks about how Harry’s sister has escaped to make her life in Paris. Harry has never spoken about it, but maybe he’d like to do the same.

“I didn’t mean Scotland when I said this country,” Harry corrects. “I meant England. It’s all Great Britain but... Oh shit,” Harry laughs at himself. “For a second there I forgot that we’re in Scotland. I swear, I’m not even that drunk.”

“How could you?” Liam mock-accuses him. “What a disgrace. Robert Burns would throw you out of his birthday party.”

There’s a movement in Liam’s peripheral vision, and, to his surprise, he looks up to see the politician of the hour approaching. He’s of about average height, nothing terribly extraordinary, but there’s something impressive and inexorably magnetic about his presence. 

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” he says, in a honeyed voice that paradoxically manages to sound sharp rather than sweet. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Louis Tomlinson.” He holds out his hand for Liam to shake.

“Liam Payne. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Please,” he laughs. “Call me Louis. And,” Louis turns to Harry. “You’re Harry Styles, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry echoes, and his tone has a bite to it. Liam isn’t sure that Louis will catch it, but Liam certainly does, and he wraps a calming hand around Harry’s wrist.

“This will probably sound odd,” Louis continues. “But, Liam, I believe we have a friend in common.”

“Do we?” Liam asks, skeptical.

“I grew up with Zayn,” Louis reveals. “We know each other from ages and ages ago.”

“Zayn Malik?” Liam asks, as if Louis could mean any other Zayn. As far as Liam is concerned, there’s one Zayn in the world, and it’s _his_ Zayn. Clever, perceptive, sweet Zayn.

“The one and only,” Louis affirms. 

Liam drops Harry’s wrist. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to process and think of what to say. It’s astounding to him that this stranger, this upstart politician would know Zayn. And, moreover, Louis seems to understand the important thing about Zayn, about how essential he is, and Liam knows that’s a special kind of rarity.

“I’m going for a drink,” Harry says as Liam continues to stand open-mouthed and dumbstruck. “Do you want anything?”

“No,” Liam answers, finally remembering how speak. “Thank you. You go ahead.” Harry turns on his heel, and Liam loses track of him instantly in the crowd. Liam continues to stare at Louis. “Zayn’s never mentioned you. At least not that I remember.”

“No? Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Zayn plays everything pretty close to the vest, doesn’t he?” Louis answers, and Liam nods because that rings true. “We each had our own group of friends growing up,” Louis explains. “But we all tended to run into each other at parties. Zayn and I got to chatting. He was always good for that sort of thing, a quiet chat in the middle of a crowd.”

“Yes,” Liam gives a laugh. “One of his best skills, aside from sleeping through just about anything during the day.”

Louis shares in Liam’s laugh for a moment. “Anyway,” he continues. “We bumped into each other again recently, and he mentioned his uni friends. You and someone named Niall, who sounds like,” Louis pauses, evidently thinking up the best way to describe Niall, “like an absolute riot.” 

“That’s accurate for our Niall.”

Louis is quiet for a moment as he looks at Liam, perhaps sizing him up. “Your name stuck out in my mind because you happened to be in the papers at the time, you and Harry.” Louis motions to the empty spot Harry has since vacated.

“Ah, really?” Liam hesitates, not quite sure what to say. He’s never spoken about being in the papers with a stranger before, although Louis feels a lot less like a stranger now.

A waitress on the serving staff stops by just then to inquire if either of them need anything to drink. She’s a good bit shorter than Liam, and it’s easy for him to wave her away without taking his eyes off Louis.

“It’s a bit difficult,” Liam says slowly. “But I guess you might understand some of that. Living your life in the public eye.”

“Yes, but the difference is, I chose it, didn’t I? I chose to make a career out of being in the public eye, and hopefully, offering some help to the public. Your situation is something private being made public.”

Liam sucks in a breath and nods. “It’s a bit mad sometimes.” Liam thinks of the confusion that hits during that first second after seeing a camera flash going off in his face. “It seems complicated, but then I really think about it, and it’s actually simple.” Liam thinks of holding Harry’s hand as he calmly steers the two of them through the chaos. “I just like being with Harry. That’s it.”

“That’s sickening,” Louis says, smiling brightly at him. “I considered becoming a teacher for awhile myself. I’ll blame Zayn’s influence there. That would have been a much more private life.”

“What made you change your mind?” Liam asks, suddenly terribly curious about this man. “Too private, too quiet, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Louis grins, flashing those cutting teeth. “I’m not bragging when I say this, but children like me. I’m really quite good with them. Adults, however, are more difficult. I like the challenge of that. I want to win people over.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, mate,” Liam laughs. “I haven’t heard of many politicians winning people over recently.”

“I know,” Louis says, waggling his eyebrows, and Liam can see why children would like him. “I have to try though.” He looks to the side, and his expression changes to something more serious. Liam spots a middle-aged gentleman motioning to Louis from another table. “Duty calls,” Louis says, with a covert eyeroll.

“I imagine so. More hands to shake, babies to kiss.”

“I wanted to shake your hand in particular, Liam. It’s a pleasure to meet any friend of Zayn’s. And,” Louis looks around. “Please give my best to Harry as well.”

“I will,” Liam promises since Harry doesn’t seem to be anywhere in the vicinity.

Liam watches Louis walk over and settle in with a new group of people. The middle-aged man claps Louis on the back and motions for him to take a seat. Harry may have been right that Louis didn’t start out with money or family connections, but he seems to be forging fairly powerful connections now. Liam makes a mental note to tell Harry, to try and make him see how someone like Louis might succeed. 

Liam turns around, and Harry is right there. He’s carrying two glasses of whisky, golden-brown liquid sloshing around. “Here,” he holds one out to Liam.

“Thanks.” Liam takes it. “But you didn’t have to get me anything, I didn’t ask for it.”

Harry shrugs. “I got two glasses,” is all he says.

Liam leans against the back of a chair and sips at the drink rather than drinking it all down at once. “You know, about Louis,” he starts.

Harry rolls his eyes. “ _Louis_.”

“He asked us to call him Louis,” Liam reminds him. “He can’t be that much older than us, it would be weird to call him Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Naturally,” Harry says, his voice sharp.

Liam huffs. Harry is obviously determined to be a snotty brat about this, but he’s still going to try and explain. “See that middle-aged man over there?” Liam covertly points to the man sitting next to Louis.

Harry leans over Liam’s shoulder, the harsh smell of whisky hot on his breath. “He looks familiar. Could be a colleague of dad’s. Hard to say, they all look the same.”

“Well, you see, he’s making connections with people. That’s the way to succeed today, isn’t it? It’s not so different from the way I got set up with this job through your mum.”

Harry sets his glass down on the table. It knocks against a piece of silverware, causing a clanging noise. “You’re different than he is. It’s different.”

“Harry, I honestly don’t agree with you on this.”

This elicits one of Harry’s strange laughs, where it seems like he’s laughing at Liam. “He has you hooked, doesn’t he? He had you speechless, and then talking to him all at once. I’ve never seen you like that.”

Liam has to look away from Harry. He turns his gaze instead to look out over the assembled crowd toward the tall windows, offering a view of Edinburgh lit up at night. They’re in a spacious ballroom, but Liam feels as though it’s close and stuffy, the air heavy with alcohol and the idle chatter of too many people. If only he and Harry could get outside, somehow. They’re always better outside. But it’s Liam’s job to be here. He has no choice, and so he turns to face Harry again.

“You struck me pretty speechless,” he says, hoping to spark a memory in Harry. “A year ago, in this exact same room, if you’ll remember.”

“It’s not quite the same,” Harry says shaking his head. “You were more… forthcoming, in a way, with him.”

Liam sets his glass down on the table now, too. It lands more forcefully than he intends, whisky sloshing up over the rim and spilling onto his hand. “Do you think I’m not honest with you?” Liam asks, unable to keep the demanding edge out of his voice.

“You’re always honest, Liam. Sometimes to a fault.”

Liam takes a step backward from Harry now, surveying him. He had made a miscalculation somewhere. He had enjoyed this kind of thing, standing in a crowded room with Harry, having their picture taken, and circulating around the room with a drink in one hand. Liam had thought Harry enjoyed it, too. He had imagined that Harry liked seeing Liam address the crowd and helping people from his small position of power. But Liam had struck the wrong note. Harry’s eyes are clouded with tension, and Liam understands it now.

“You’re jealous,” Liam says, and he doesn’t phrase it as a question. “You wanted to meet him, but then he started talking to me. And it’s made you jealous.”

“Yes, I suppose I am, a bit.” Harry might be smiling or he might be sneering. “It was fascinating, really, to watch you. It was like he pressed a button, and you opened up to him.”

Liam heaves a sigh, suddenly feeling very tired. “He’s a politician, Harry. It’s his job to know how to charm people. He happened to know the right way to get to me,” Liam holds his hands out in a helpless gesture. “He mentioned Zayn.”

“Of course,” Harry says, but this time his tone doesn’t have any bite to it.

Liam leans back into Harry now, pulling at his tuxedo jacket. “You didn’t know the right things to say to me at all,” he teases. “But I still went for you.”

Harry gives a quiet laugh into Liam’s neck. “We were rather hopeless. We still are, if tonight is anything to go by.” Then he sways in closer to whisper in Liam’s ear. “Ready to go upstairs for the night?”

“Ugh,” Liam drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “I ought to check with my boss instead of just disappearing, right?”

“Unfortunately, you probably should. That’s the shit part about having a job, you have to check in with your boss.”

“How would you know anything about having a job?” Liam jabs at Harry and Harry gives him a smack across the shoulder.

Radhika, like most of the guests, is on her way to being happily plastered by this point. “Get out of my sight!” She good-naturedly yells at Liam and Harry. “You’re the most disgusting couple I’ve ever seen. Attached at the hip. Go, goodnight!” She shoos them away.

Liam and Harry glance at each other, laughing a bit awkwardly, because this is one night where they spent some time _not_ being attached at the hip. But Liam isn’t going to argue with his boss, so he leads Harry away from the crowd. 

Out in the hallway, Liam feels the whisky burn of the party receding, and he’s glad that it’s just the two of them, finally away from camera lenses and the eyes of a crowd. Liam squeezes Harry’s hand, and Harry squeezes back.

+

Liam and Harry don’t spend the night gleefully raiding the minibar, feeling like children in a candy store. They don’t jump on the bed or fall onto it, laughing together. Instead, Liam pulls Harry down on top of him on the bed, and gives him a little nod before going in for a first kiss. They both know what it means, and they take their time working up to it. There’s no rush. They’ve done this before, they’ll do it again, and tonight there are bowties to be dispensed with, and so many delicate buttons to undo.

Once all the layers have been peeled away, and it’s skin on skin, they’ve had enough of breathing each other in and can’t wait any longer. Harry leaves Liam for a moment to fetch the lube and a condom from where he’d packed them away, and Liam feels cold, alone on the bed without Harry on top of him.

But then Harry is back, and Liam is ready for him, as he pushes into Liam with one gentle finger, and then more urgently with a second and third when Liam asks. Then Liam isn’t capable of asking with words any more. He can only roll onto his stomach, a pillow placed underneath him, and brace himself on his elbows as Harry pushes all the way inside him.

Liam’s body is on overload from so many sensations happening at once, but, even still, he doesn’t miss it when Harry moves his hand to grip at the back of his neck, pressing one finger down, as though hitting a button. Liam has to grin to himself at the action, or as close to a grin as he can manage in the moment.

Because Liam might speak to other people at parties. He might be put in the spotlight at times by himself, without Harry, because of his job. He might even find himself charmed by an up-and-coming politician. But this—willingly giving himself over until half of his face is smashed into the mattress, indecipherable moans escaping from his mouth into the sheets, as the sensory pressure and exhilaration overwhelm him—this is different.

Liam only does this with Harry. 

+

January slides into February, and a few weeks pass in a quiet lull. 

Harry comes home over Valentine’s Day weekend, and he and Liam order Chinese takeaway and watch classic Hollywood films like _Bringing Up Baby_ and _The Philadelphia Story_.

“This is nice,” Liam says, settling down with a blanket on the sofa next to Harry. “I’m actually glad we didn’t go out anywhere. This is more comfortable.”

“We’re more of an old married couple than my parents are,” Harry cackles.

Liam has no idea how to respond to this joke, so he settles for poking Harry in the cheek with his chopsticks.

Radhika takes some much needed time away from work after the Burns Dinner, and Liam passes some quiet days at the office mostly looking through Niall’s twitter and checking up on an art tumblr that Zayn runs. 

He remembers his conversation with Crawford about the fellowship opportunity, and types out a short email, saying that he hopes Crawford enjoyed the evening and that he’d love to hear more details about the possible fellowship. 

Liam receives a reply later that afternoon. This particular fellowship is handed out by the London Symphony Orchestra. There are several available fellowships to be awarded to young aspiring musicians, with the end goal being to compose an original piece of music. Liam would have to fill out an application, for which Crawford says he’s happy to write a recommendation. 

With Radhika out of the office, Liam somehow feels a little more free to think about making a career change. It wouldn’t be the most graceful thing, extricating himself from this job, especially considering who had set him up with it. But the application deadline isn’t until the end of March, so Liam clicks out of the email and resolves to figure it out later.

The next day, Liam’s phone buzzes during a slow stretch of the afternoon, and he sees that Niall is calling him. This means that it’s either a pocket dial or an actual emergency, so Liam answers with a wary, “Hello?”

“Payno!” Niall responds. So, not a pocket dial, then. Liam holds his breath. “Are you at work? Can you talk?”

“Yeah I’m at work, but it’s okay. My boss is still out, I can talk.”

“I know you don’t keep up with the tabloids, but there’s something you should see. I came across an article today.”

“An article to do with me?” Liam asks, something flipping over in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes. You and Harry. And Louis Tomlinson. Zayn’s politician friend.”

“You know about Louis?” is all Liam can think to ask.

“Yeah, well, Zayn mentioned him a couple of times in an off-hand way. I didn’t realize how famous he is, didn’t even realize it’s the same bloke until now.” 

“Is Louis that famous?” Liam asks, feeling as though he’s asking all the wrong questions, but not knowing how to even begin asking the right ones.

“ _Yes_ , Liam, Louis is a celeb. Harry is a celeb. And so are you, now.”

Liam has no response for that. “Shit,” is the best he can manage. 

“You need to look at the article and see for yourself.” Niall sounds as serious as Liam has ever heard him, and it makes his stomach go from anxiously flighty to heavy and leaden. “Someone got a picture of you and Louis talking to each other without Harry at the party. And apparently someone else overheard you and Harry arguing later, so obviously the insinuation is that you and Harry are breaking up because you’re obsessed with this other bloke. Although I think he has a girlfriend, so you might be barking up the wrong tree there.”

Liam laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I’m not barking up any tree. Although, they’re sort of right. I spent some time chatting with Louis, and then Harry and I had a bit of an argument later. But it wasn’t… We’re not...” Liam gives a laugh again as he sputters. “Harry and I just spent Valentine’s Day together, we haven’t broken up! Oh christ, maybe we should have gone out somewhere instead of staying in just to show that we are still together.”

“I believe you, mate,” Niall says, sounding calm and collected now. “And you don’t need to show off to anyone else. Just, probably make sure that Harry is alright. That’s all that matters.”

“You’re right. Oh god, he probably has a million mentions about it on twitter.”

“He probably does.” Niall chuckles, and it’s nice to hear the familiar sound of his laugh again. It seems like he’s about to say goodbye when he pauses. “Will you be alright yourself?” 

“Yeah, cheers. I mean it, Niall, thanks for letting me know.”

Liam pockets his phone and takes a deep, steadying breath. His body feels strangely numb. He blinks, hoping the expression on his face resembles something normal, but feeling completely unable to control it. Since Radhika is still gone, he figures he can reasonably take the rest of the afternoon off. He heads home to the townhouse, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in public right now. His phone buzzes just as he reaches the door with a text from Harry.

_You alright? Let me know. Good thing I was planning to come home tomorrow anyway. x_

Harry comes home with a copy of the tabloid in question. It’s similar to the time he had brought the paper home when the media had confirmed Liam and Harry’s relationship, except this time, the media are convinced that Liam and Harry are breaking up. 

The two of them spread the paper out on the kitchen counter, poring over it in silence. The story is exactly how Niall had depicted it, with the author of the article seeming awfully concerned that Harry is on the brink of a nervous breakdown due to romantic disappointment. There doesn’t seem to be any concern at all for Liam himself, as he’s apparently being painted as some sort of heartbreaker extraordinaire.

“We ought to throw this out,” Harry says. “We shouldn’t waste time looking at this rubbish.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees. But neither of them make a move to get rid of the paper. “It’s sort of funny,” he remarks after a pause. “They nearly have it right. We were arguing. I wonder who was spying on us.”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe no one was spying, and the author guessed, hoping to be right. Besides,” Harry turns to look at Liam with a little smirk. “It was really more of a discussion than an argument.”

“Is that how you want to refer to your little outburst of jealousy?” Liam teases, elbowing Harry. “A discussion?”

“Just because we disagreed doesn’t mean we were arguing. Besides, the word discussion covers all manner of sins.”

“You cover all manner of sins.”

Then they’re smacking at each other. It’s half roughhousing, and half something more as Harry pinches at Liam’s nipples, and Liam pulls at Harry’s hair. They manage to make it to the carpeted living room before falling onto the floor. The two of them settle into each other, the paper forgotten on the kitchen counter.

+

That would have been the end of it. Harry eventually tosses the paper in the bin where it belongs. And Liam would have simply filed the article away in his mind, compartmentalizing the extra scrutiny of who he chooses to socialize with at parties as just one more thing that comes along with being in a relationship with Harry Styles.

Except that another article appears over the weekend, and it’s the most personal yet for Liam.

_How much do we really know about Harry Styles’ boyfriend?_ the article asks.

_Liam Payne has been lucky enough to snag our much sought-after Harry Styles. It’s easy to see why from his good looks and killer body, but is he actually a nice guy? It’s known that Liam works for the cultural trust, which is perhaps a sign of his charitable nature. But how much work does he actually do? A source who was at the annual Burns Dinner in Scotland can reveal to us that Liam was spotted amusing himself by playing the piano instead of helping to set up before the event. And his self-absorbed behavior doesn’t stop there! Later in the evening, when a server tried to help with his drink order, she was rudely brushed off without a second thought._

_Harry and Liam were spotted arguing before leaving the party later that night._

Harry stands at Liam’s side in the kitchen, both of them reading in silence. As Liam goes back over the article, he feels Harry’s hand sliding around his waist and settling around his hipbone. It should be calming, and Liam wants to appreciate the touch the way he normally does, but everything is off.

There’s a picture with the article, and it’s the same one that was taken months ago of Liam standing in the window of the art gallery. The effect of the picture running with this article now is to make Liam appear bossy, as though he’s telling Radhika and the gallery owner what to do.

Liam spins out of Harry’s grasp, feeling sick to his stomach that the Trust was mentioned in the article. They’ll receive emails and phone calls about it on Monday, a headache for Radhika on her first day back from holiday.

And guilt about his job isn’t the only thing that’s getting to Liam in the moment. He paces back and forth across the kitchen, working through everything in his mind, while Harry stands back and lets him do it. The thing is, Liam remembers it. There was a shorter girl with dark hair who came to ask himself and Louis about their drinks. He hadn’t really looked at her because he had been so absorbed in his conversation with Louis, and, in the end, he had simply brushed her off.

Perhaps, without even intending to, Liam had been selfish and done some harm. He had certainly been thoughtless, and gotten lost in his own head while playing the piano until Radhika had to remind him to do his job. Liam has always thought that Harry is the not-so-nice one, but maybe he's been mistaken. He’s spent so much time trying to figure out Harry that he’s forgotten to consider himself.

Liam abruptly stops his pacing. “They’re right,” he says.

“What?” Harry looks up, startled by Liam’s sudden statement. “Who are?”

“The media. The author of that article. I was being a bit of an arse that night, at the Burns Dinner.”

Harry is quiet as he seems to consider this. Then he slowly draws himself up to his full height so that he and Liam are level with each other. “I thought we established that I was the one being a bit of an arse that night.”

Liam can’t help grinning, and he’s grateful to Harry for provoking that. “I’m serious. This article isn’t off-base. I was rude to that server. I didn’t mean to be, but I wasn’t thinking. And I was wasting time playing the piano before the event started. And then you and I did argue later. I know you don’t want to call it an argument, but people heard us. The article is right.”

Harry stares at Liam, his jaw set, something about his gaze gone very hard. “What does it matter to you?”

“Does it _never_ matter to you?” Liam shoots back. “Are you never affected by it?”

“No,” Harry answers simply, and Liam believes him. “Sometimes the media happens to hit on something true. Other times it’s very, very untrue. Either way, none of it matters.”

Liam shakes his head. “I can’t help it. This article is about me personally. I can’t help taking it that way. Because it’s my fault. You and I did argue that night. And I wasn’t being very nice to anyone in general.”

Harry blinks. He opens his mouth and then closes it again. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I’m sorry you’re upset, and I’m sorry about this whole thing.”

Liam gives Harry a light kiss, pats his cheek, and then walks out of the kitchen. He’s grateful to Harry for saying sorry, but Liam doesn’t need sympathy right now. There’s one person he needs, and, miraculously, he answers Liam’s call.

“I’ve been waiting to hear from you, bro,” Zayn says, and the familiar sound of his voice is enough to make Liam feel calmer. “Ever since Niall said he spoke to you, I’ve been waiting.”

“Hey, you could have rung me!”

“You know I hate the phone,” Zayn says with a laugh. “But I was going to if I didn’t hear from you today.”

“Zayn,” Liam starts in, can’t resist asking this question. “Why did you never mention Louis to me?” 

“I honestly never thought you two would cross paths. I’m sorry if he took you by surprise. In the picture I saw of you together, you look… shocked or something.”

“Yeah,” Liam laughs. “I was shocked as shit to hear your name coming out of a politician’s mouth.”

“I don’t think of him like that. He’s just Louis from back home. Even if he were Prime Minister, he’d just be Louis to me. And I know he likes it that way.”

“I notice Louis has escaped taking any flack from the media,” Liam adds in a wry tone. 

“Well, he’s got a whole PR team on his side, hasn’t he? He’s in the papers for donating masses of money to that children’s hospice, no one’s going to question him right now. And Harry is the media’s darling. I’m afraid you’re the easy target in all of this,” Zayn says. “How are you holding up?” he asks in a more gentle tone.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’m a bit nervous about going into work this week.” Zayn hums in sympathy, and Liam takes a deep breath. Harry hadn’t really understood where he was coming from, but he still tries to explain it to Zayn. “I’m feeling weird because this second article that’s just come out is mostly right. I wasn’t being very nice that night, and maybe I haven’t been very nice in general lately. It’s just… well, that’s not the easiest thing to think about.”

Zayn is quiet on the line for a little while. Liam is used to it, and it doesn’t mean that Zayn isn’t paying attention. That’s just how Zayn communicates, altering between silence and deliberate conversation. Liam waits until he’s ready to speak.

“Liam,” Zayn starts up again. He speaks slowly. “You’ve always taken care of Niall and me, always made sure we’re okay. Now you have Harry, too. And I just wonder if you have time to think of yourself. I don’t mean, like, in a self-absorbed way. I just mean, really looking out for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “Thanks, mate.” Even though he isn’t yet entirely sure what Zayn means, he has a feeling he should be thanking Zayn anyway.

+

Going into work that week isn’t quite as frightening as Liam had thought it might be. 

Radhika walks in with a serious look on her face. She marches right over to Liam, sets a hand on his shoulder, and asks, “Are you holding up alright?”

“Yes,” he assures her. “I’m fine. And I’m really sorry for—”

But Radhika cuts him off with a shake of her head. She gives him a little smile, and goes into her office. Liam sits back in his chair, feeling a little bit relieved. 

But he can’t help noticing that the phones ring more than usual that day. The secretary, Nancy, complains that her inbox has exploded with emails. And Radhika skips lunch, running around with her jaw set against something. Liam can’t help thinking that it’s against him, or at least against the onslaught caused by him.

Liam opens his own email, and thinks about Zayn’s advice. He hopes that for once, looking out for himself will also benefit other people in the long run. He types out an email to Crawford asking if he’ll write the letter of recommendation for the fellowship, and presses send.

+

Weekends come and go, and Liam still hasn’t told Harry about the fellowship, let alone that he applied for it. He might not get it, and then there’s no use worrying anyone about it. But if he does, if Crawford’s recommendation gives him the edge he needs, then it might be time to think about finding a flat of his own and a space where he can focus on composing his own piece of music. 

Liam looks into Harry’s eyes as they settle into their usual spots on the sofa, ready with the Netflix queue, and it seems like too much to try and talk about. The words stick in Liam’s throat. Harry, for his part, continues to wrap a casual arm around Liam’s waist, pinching at his hip before letting go. He doesn’t show any signs that he’s noticed Liam’s charged silence.

Liam thinks about calling his sisters, and, in fact, has messages from both of them that he hasn’t responded to. But he had told them that he was great, that his life was great. It’s painful to have to swallow down those words, and admit that he’s confused. So Liam simply doesn’t.

One thing Liam is not expecting is the presence of another type of sister around the townhouse. He comes home from work one day, and heads straight for the kitchen. He stops dead in the doorway at the sight of Gemma, who has pulled a stool up to the counter and is sitting there with her laptop open in front of her. 

“Liam!” She calls before he can sneak away. “Is that you hovering in the doorway?”

“Yeah. Sorry, you scared me,” he answers honestly.

She gives him a look like she’s confused. “Don’t apologize. You’re the only person who’s been living here on a regular basis recently. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you before coming up. I have some time off, and I didn’t realize dad was away again.”

“Er, yeah. Business trip to Asia this time, is it?” Liam says, walking into the kitchen now, and setting his messenger bag down on the counter.

“I can’t keep track. It’s always business, and it’s always far away.” Gemma waves a hand dismissively, then pauses. “It’s funny though. The house smells like him, like his cologne. The same one he’s always worn. It’s nice.”

Liam doesn’t say anything in response to this, just letting Gemma have a moment with her thoughts. Instead he busies himself finding a glass and pouring himself some orange juice. He drums his fingers on the stainless steel countertop, the muscle memory in his hands remembering a beat his mind hasn’t caught up with yet. Liam isn’t even aware that he’s doing it until Gemma glances at his hands, and then shoots him an inscrutable look. 

“Sorry,” Liam says, stopping immediately.

“I told you, don’t apologize,” is all Gemma says before turning back to her laptop.

Liam is very still for a moment. He knows he could easily leave the room now, and probably avoid Gemma for the rest of the night if he wanted. But something in her look, something in the straightforward way she told Liam to stop apologizing, the nostalgic way she turned to look at the empty space next to her when she mentioned her father, it all makes Liam feel that he can confide in her.

“I’ve applied for a fellowship from the symphony,” he blurts out, and Gemma looks up in surprise. “I don’t think I’ll get it, it’s a real long shot. But I still haven’t told Harry about it, and I’m terrified.”

She considers him for a moment, then methodically clicks around on her laptop, and shuts it down before finally speaking. “Are you hoping to get the fellowship?”

“Well,” Liam shrugs, feeling embarrassed. “I would love to receive it. It would be complicated though. I would have to give up my job, for one thing.”

Gemma nods like she could see this coming. “I can’t help you talk to Harry. You two need to do that for yourselves. But,” she pauses to give him a sympathetic smile. “There is someone else I might be able to help you with.”

“Will she be upset if I leave the Trust?” Liam asks in a rush, relieved to be able to talk about this. They don’t even need to say Anne’s name between them, they both know she’s the party in question. “It’s down to her that I even have the job at all.”

Gemma nods. “Anne likes to help people, and she doesn’t like that to backfire on her. However, she can hardly blame you if a better opportunity comes up.” Gemma leans forward a little conspiratorially. “It would reflect badly on her if she begrudged you such an amazing opportunity, and, above all, she wouldn’t want that.” Gemma gives a little roll of her eyes and laughs like she’s entirely too used to dealing with her mother.

“I would still feel guilty leaving,” Liam says, trying to convey the sense of indebtedness he feels towards Anne. “I’m not always sure what the appropriate thing to do is. I’m rubbish with most social situations, but this definitely feels like I’m breaking some kind of rule.”

“I won’t lie to you, Liam, there are definitely certain social manners and rules that my mother expects people to observe, but,” Gemma gives a shrug. “You can’t go around making decisions about your life because you feel guilty. You just can’t.”

Liam feels like he’s able to breathe properly for the first time since submitting his fellowship application. Talking to Gemma is a more straightforward business than talking to Harry, but then, she’s older, has more experience, and it’s likely that leaving England has given her clarity of perspective on her parents. Liam gives her a tentative smile in thanks, which she returns.

“I’ll keep Anne happy,” she says. “She’s been raving about some new perfume lately. It’s an exclusive at the Serge Lutens boutique in Paris. I’ll have to snag a bottle for her. That will go a long way to keeping her in a good mood.”

“Oh, you don’t have to actually do anything,” Liam is quick to protest. “Just venting to you has been enough, really.”

“It’s no problem. Besides, a happy Anne is in everyone’s best interest.”

Gemma gives him one last smile before turning away. She opens up her laptop again and immediately begins typing something out, signaling that the conversation is over. Liam honestly has to admire her rather frightening efficiency. 

+

It’s a spectacular bit of bad timing that Liam finds out he is indeed one of the recipients of the symphony fellowships just when plans for Harry’s graduation are being made.

Liam and Harry make the trip to Cheshire in late spring for a long weekend of planning with Anne. Liam vows to be honest with Harry about the whole fellowship story, but it seems to be Harry’s turn to be uncharacteristically quiet and reserved. When they arrive at the house, Harry goes immediately to his own room, saying he needs to rest. This leaves Liam alone with his family, as Gemma is there as well. She still isn’t necessarily warm with Liam, but she gives him a genuine smile.

Liam hasn’t spoken directly with Anne since the chaos of the media attention, and if she had said anything to Harry about it, he hasn’t mentioned it. So it’s with a little more anxiety than usual that Liam greets Anne now. She seems more dressed up, or perhaps more purposeful in her appearance, and Liam notes her red lipstick, high heels, and a stack of silver bracelets on one arm. 

“Liam,” she says, reaching for him and the bracelets jangle. “I’m glad both you and Harry could make it for the weekend.”

“Thank you for having me again.” Liam tries to be as polite, as always.

Anne gives him a hug, but there’s noticeable space between them. It’s the sort of hug that Liam pulls away from with a shiver.

Dinner that night is a stilted affair. Harry doesn’t eat much, chewing on his own silence instead. Anne’s silver jewelry gleams in the soft lighting of an overhead chandelier. Gemma, the only person Liam has been honest with recently, is seated furthest away from him, keeping herself to herself.

It occurs to Liam that they’re all keeping things from each other. He can’t tell what Anne is armoring herself against, dressing herself up in silver metal, but it’s not necessarily a surprise that he would have trouble interpreting her motivations. The real cause for concern is that he has no idea what Harry could be privately considering, and that’s enough to have Liam sitting up straight, bracing his shoulders, trying to sharpen his senses to figure out what cues he’s missed lately.

Dinner the next night is even worse because, instead of silence, Anne insists on talking.

“Liam,” she starts in, her voice cutting through the room. “I’ve been thinking that I’d like to address the Board about a different sort of fundraising event. The cocktail event in support of young artists last Autumn was a success, but I noticed that many of the artists were men, did you notice that?”

“I can’t say that I did notice, no,” Liam answers honestly. He had never given it much thought.

“Well I did, and I think we really need to do something in support of young women in the arts specifically.”

“Okay,” Liam says slowly, unsure what type of response Anne is looking for from him. Moreover, it’s not really his concern, since he’ll be leaving soon.

“I know it’s the anniversary of Jane Austen’s birthday in December. We could aim for that time of year, and perhaps do something for rising women authors. That will give us plenty of time to plan.” Anne pauses, holding her silverware in mid-air over her plate, the metal flashing in the light. “And that will also give you enough time to adjust your behavior at official events.”

There’s a pause that feels like an eternity as Liam and Anne hold each other’s gaze across the table.

“Excuse me!” Harry bursts out in anger on Liam’s behalf. But, without even turning to look at him, Anne makes a movement with her knife and Harry falls silent.

“Have you spoken to Radhika about any of this?” Liam asks, trying to deflect attention away from himself. “You really should be telling her about your ideas.”

“Ah.” Anne gives a frightening smile. “You see, I’m busy enough with the other board members. And, of course, I have Harry’s graduation to think of at the moment. So I thought you could finally make yourself useful and take care of that part for me.”

Harry and Gemma have both gone very quiet and still, as though all the air has gone out of the room and they’re required to hold their breaths. Liam, however, sets his knife and fork down, the noise echoing down the long dining table. He takes a deep breath and finds it easy to breathe. He can do this.

“Actually, I won’t be able to help with that,” Liam says, his voice steady. “I won’t be able to help with your new fundraiser idea at all.”

Anne sits forward in her chair. “Pardon me?”

“I’ve been awarded a fellowship from the symphony. So I’ll be leaving the Trust altogether.” 

Now it’s Anne’s turn to be struck silent. Her eyes go wide and she sets her mouth into a thin line.

It’s Gemma who breaks the silence. She reaches out and touches Anne’s elbow. “Come on, I think we’re finished in here. Let’s go upstairs. I picked up something for you in Paris. Let me show you, mum.”

Being addressed as “mum” startles Anne, as she flinches. It seems to have startled Gemma too, as she looks at her mother. Then they both move together, Gemma pulling Anne up, and leading her away from the table with an arm at her back. On their way out the door, Gemma turns and looks over her shoulder at Liam. The look on her face isn’t quite a smile, it isn’t happy. It’s the look of understanding and compassion, and Liam bows his head to her in acknowledgement.

Harry still hasn’t said anything. He’s sat at the edge of his seat, napkin twisted in his hand, and a look on his face as though he’s choking on his own silence. Liam knows he should make an effort with Harry right now, try to crack him open, after the bomb he’s just dropped. But taking on Anne directly in front of everyone else was exhausting enough, so Liam pushes back his chair and exits the dining room on his own.

Liam ends up wandering out to the grounds at the back of the house. There’s still plenty of daylight on this spring evening, and he’d rather not stay inside with everyone else right now. He’s never walked around the grounds here alone before, and finds himself confused and lost for a moment in a row of hedges. As he finally comes out the other side, he runs right into someone.

“Ouch!” This someone is exactly his height, and they bump foreheads. “Shit, Harry! I’m sorry.” Liam thinks he’s apologizing for a lot of things.

Harry shakes it off. “Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes sharp, and he’s definitely asking about more than just the bruise on Liam’s forehead.

Liam nods, but then changes his mind and shakes his head. “That was awful,” he says, inclining his head to the side indicating the house.

“I know, that’s why I came to find you. Pack your things. We’ll go to the cottage, yeah? I’m making arrangements.”

“Yeah,” Liam nods. All of a sudden he’s finding it difficult to swallow over the lump in his throat. “Okay. Let’s go.”

+

Paul flies with Liam and Harry in the private jet, and then procures a car for them to travel to the cottage. It’s not the glamorous private jet ride that Liam might have imagined before, but it feels fitting now. Liam and Harry sit across from each other in contemplative silence, and Liam grips his armrest as he watches darkness fall during the short ride.

It feels fitting because the cottage has always meant something for them. The two of them drop their bags inside and then head down to the beach as though they had agreed upon it beforehand, which Liam thinks they had done. They had agreed a long time ago to stand together on a lonely pier here. The cottage is actually a short drive away from town, but standing out on the pier and looking over the expanse of water, it feels isolated, like a nowhere point.

Lights from the back of the house flood down onto the beach, but otherwise it’s dark. There’s a slight choppiness to the water tonight, little waves crashing against the stone pier. Liam wonders if this means that a storm is on its way in, or in the last stages of dying down.

Harry walks to stand at the edge of the pier with Liam, looking out to an indiscernible point on the horizon. That familiar salt smell is everywhere, and it seeps into Liam’s mind until he can’t distinguish between the sea and Harry next to him.

It’s always been the two of them trying to navigate their relationship on this pier. Liam knows what the cold stone feels like against his back, as he lay with Harry on top of him when they touched each other for the first time. And he knows what the crumbling edge of the pier feels like beneath his feet, the delicate precariousness of it. The water remains the unknown quantity. Liam doesn’t know what it feels like to plunge headlong into something.

Liam doesn’t give a warning, doesn’t stop to remove his clothes. He jumps in one fluid motion, plunging downward. 

The cold of the North Sea hits him immediately, icy water searing through his bones and knocking the wind out of him. He bobs up and down a bit, waves rolling around him. Liam is strong and a good swimmer, but the sea has depths and undercurrents that are far more powerful. A wave rolls over his head, and Liam discovers that it’s peaceful, in a way, to stay under water. His limbs float out beside him and beneath him, out of his control. He looks up to see light reflecting up above the surface of the water, and he can hear muted sounds, but it’s all very far away. It’s as though he’s encased in a pretty glass dome, and it would be such a pity to break it.

Then there’s pressure around his torso, disturbing his peace. There’s a muffled, distorted kind of shouting in his ear, and an arm is gripping tightly and then hauling him upward. The glass is shattered as Liam and Harry break through the surface of the water. Liam takes huge, painful gasps of air. Breathing is so strange, he thinks deliriously.

“Shut. Up.” Harry grunts as he pushes Liam up onto the pier.

“Sorry,” Liam coughs. He has no idea what he’s thinking or saying, no control. He flops down roughly, his back scraping against the cold stone.

Harry rolls onto the pier himself, and then he throws himself on Liam, but it’s not romantic. He’s pushing roughly at Liam’s chest. He presses his mouth to Liam’s, but it’s not in a kiss. Harry’s lips are a delicate shade of purple and Liam figures his are probably the same. There’s water streaming down both of their faces, salt is the overwhelming taste in both of their mouths, and neither of them will ever be able to tell whether or not they’re crying right now.

+

Inside the cottage, Harry lights a fire in the sitting room and throws all the blankets he can find at Liam to wrap himself in. Harry leaves to peel his own soaking wet clothes off. He returns bundled up in what looks like both a jumper and a hoodie, trying to pat his hair dry. Liam sits up, bracing himself, when he notices the stormy look in Harry’s eye.

He begins with a simple, “What the fuck, Liam?”

“Yeah,” is all Liam can say.

“The North Sea? Really? You thought you’d just dive in without any warning? Without thinking about how fucking freezing it is? It’s arctic, for fuck’s sake! Do you actually have a death wish?”

“No!” Liam cringes. He hadn’t meant for it to be dangerous at all. “It seemed important in the moment. We were on the pier. We’re always on the pier, and I wanted to experience the water.”

“I hope you’ll be satisfied with the experience when we both die of pneumonia.”

“Harry, please.” Liam doesn’t know what else to say. He rubs at his eyes, still sore and burning from the sea water. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he says in a more irritated tone than he intends.

“Oh!” Harry throws his hands up in the air. “Yes, of course, I’m the dramatic one.” Harry narrows his eyes and points a finger at Liam. “You know, Liam, you always wanted an argument. I prefer discussions. But you kept pushing it, you wanted to provoke it. Well, now you’ve got one.”

Liam stares. That wasn’t what he had been thinking at all when he jumped into the water, but maybe he should have seen this coming. Their relationship has always been a negotiation, and this time Liam had literally plunged off the deep end. What else could he have expected other than a fight?

“I’m sorry,” Liam says, but the apology rings very small and hollow in the large sitting room.

“The problem with you, Liam, is that you’re either thinking too much or not thinking at all. You’re a bit rude, and rather careless. I don’t mind the rudeness,” Harry admits. “I like it, really. The confidence that comes with it. But I can’t do the carelessness. I can’t do this.”

For a moment there isn’t any sound except for the crackling of the fire. The silence between himself and Harry roars more loudly in Liam’s ears than the water had earlier, and he thinks that this is the real plunge. This is what it means to fall over the edge with no one and nothing there to catch you.

“Harry,” he starts, but Harry doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s rounding up Liam’s discarded, soaking wet clothes from where they’re strewn in a dripping mess on the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Laundry, Liam.” Harry sounds very tired. “I’m doing the laundry. Give me your things.”

Liam hands over his jeans, heavy with water, and Harry leaves him alone in front of the fire again. The flames loom large in front of Liam, and it’s nice after all that water.

When Harry returns he seems calmer, the anger wrung out of him. Liam motions to a spot on the floor near to himself and the fire, and Harry takes it. Liam unwraps one blanket from his cluster and hands it to Harry, who bundles himself up.

“Don’t apologize anymore,” Harry starts.

“Alright.”

“You didn’t tell me about the fellowship,” Harry says, his voice gentle, not accusatory.

“No,” Liam answers honestly. Harry said not to apologize. “I didn’t. I was scared to. And I was scared I wouldn’t get it.”

Harry gives him a wry smile and then looks at the fire. “I know how you feel.” He takes a deep breath. “I know because I’ve done something similar. I applied for a job in New York with one of NYU’s research institutes. It’s to do with media and culture. I found out two days ago that I got it.” Harry looks down at his hands. “I’ll have to move to the States during the summer for the year. I haven’t even told Anne yet.”

It’s Liam’s turn to give a wry smile, as he understands that feeling all too well. “That’s fantastic news, Harry. Both of your parents will be so proud.”

Harry gives a modest shrug. “Your news is fantastic, too. Music. It’s what you love.”

The two of them look at each other, the fire casting long shadows around them, cutting ever-moving lines on the floor in the space between them. They both know what it means, the distance. America is an ocean away, and Liam has had his fill of water for a long time now.

“You’ll be a disgusting success in the States,” Liam says a bit ruefully. “Your accent and your Oxford degree.”

“Come off it.” Harry swats a hand in Liam’s vicinity. “I was actually hoping it would be a little quieter there.”

“New York?” Liam raises a skeptical eyebrow. “The city that never sleeps?”

“I meant,” Harry bites his lip. “Away from my parents. And hopefully no one will know me.”

Liam nods. “New York is generally the place to start over. Sounds like a decent plan to me.”

“And what about you? Tell me what you’ll be doing so that I can imagine it.”

“Oh,” Liam laughs. “The usual. Shut up in a dusty music room somewhere, hitting the same notes over and over until I get it right.”

“And performing though,” Harry adds. “You’ll be performing in the end, right?”

“Well, yes, once I’ve actually produced something to perform.”

Harry gives one of his delicious grins. “I’ll imagine that, then. And come see you one day. Conducting the symphony, maybe?”

“Conductor? You never aim low, do you?”

Harry’s smile brightens, and then fades to something more serious. “You know, I don’t want to start over. That’s not what it’s about. I don’t regret anything that I’ve done, especially not anything with you. I just need…”

Liam nods. “A change of scenery.”

Harry lets out a breath. He reaches over and places one of his hands delicately in Liam’s. They don’t really do delicate, not very often. It makes Liam’s stomach tremble, thinking what it means for them to be delicate and gentle with each other now. The shadows continue to dance around them, and Liam decides not to end this any differently from the way it started. He squeezes Harry’s hand just a shade harder than necessary and it elicits a grin from Harry.

After a moment Harry stands up, shedding the blanket. “I’m going to bed,” he announces.

“I’m going to stay down here,” Liam says, definitively marking some space between them. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Liam.”

The fire dies down, and Liam settles himself on the sofa with a pillow and his nest of blankets. As he curls up to fall asleep, he notices that salt smell. It’s on him now, sunk deep into his own skin. After everything he and Harry have been through together this past year, after everything they’ve been through together this evening, and before the unknown that will come tomorrow, that old familiar smell is deeply comforting. Liam takes a deep breath in.

+

Liam walks up and down the stairs of the townhouse, carrying suitcases and boxes of his things, stacking them by the door. Niall will be here later to give him a lift to his new flat.

For now, Harry and his father are in the front hall. Mr. Styles is going through his briefcase and talking to Harry about neighborhoods in New York and where the best properties are. Harry is absolutely hating this conversation, Liam can tell from the way he’s practically chewing through his lip.

On his way back upstairs, Liam stops to touch one hand to the small of Harry’s back, and Harry leans his weight into Liam for a moment, showing that he’s grateful for the silent support.

“Dad, I really appreciate your help,” Harry speaks up. “But I’d like to find my own place to live in the city.”

Liam smiles to himself, drops his hand, and continues on up the stairs.

+

Sometimes inheritances come with a renowned surname and sprawling scenic properties. It’s nice having this type of luxury and security, but Liam has learned that it’s not all heedless decadence. There are provisions and rules, and family homes often come with a long corridor filled with portraits of ancestors.

There are other types of inheritances.

There is a framed photograph that Liam keeps, setting it on the windowsill of his new flat. He wouldn’t throw it away just because a relationship has ended. The look on Liam’s face in the photo marks the beginning of an understanding that he and Harry had to work for every time they were together. Every moment of their relationship was hard-won and earned, and Liam wants to pass that understanding on, work it into his music, perhaps. 

There is also the gleam of rose gold metal. There’s the shining, reflective glass protecting the watch face. This is a face that Liam can read. The second hand ticks methodically, never stopping or slowing down. This is a face around which Liam can order his life. It offers a steady beat he can rely on every day, a beat he can play off of for his own music. This is what his father has offered to him, and Liam finally accepts it as he fastens the watch around his wrist for the first time while getting dressed to attend a party. 

Because there is one final party.

“We RSVPed,” Harry had explained over the phone. “I actually wrote your name down instead of writing plus one. What do you reckon, should we do one last party?”

“Oh, well, if you RSVPed,” Liam had joked in a playfully sarcastic way. “We have no choice.” Although he’s learned a lot about the importance of RSVPing and party etiquette lately.

They meet on the pavement outside The Dorchester in the rich sunlight that comes just before dusk.

“New accessory?” Harry asks, noticing the gleam of the metal on Liam’s arm.

Liam holds his wrist out for Harry to examine. “My dad’s watch.”

“Ah.” Harry’s eyes spark in understanding. He looks at the watch and then at Liam, his expression as complicated as ever. “It suits you,” is what he decides to say after a moment.

“Thank you.”

Harry pulls at the cuffs of his sleeves and then puffs his chest out a little bit, as though bracing himself. “Are you ready to go in?”

“Er, Harry,” Liam has to ask something before doing this. He hasn’t noticed any articles online or in the tabloids lately, but he isn’t the best at keeping up with that sort of thing. “Have you told your mum about us breaking up?”

Harry gives a guilty smile. “I told Gemma, that’s it. Obviously my dad knows, but I’m not sure if he would have said anything about it to Anne. I haven’t spoken to anyone else about it myself. I don’t think anyone,” here Harry makes a general sweeping motion with his arm, “knows that we’re not together anymore.”

“Okay.” Liam nods. “That’s what I wanted to know. That’s fine that people don’t know. That’s good. It’s no one’s business anyway.”

“Exactly,” Harry agrees, and he holds out one arm for Liam to take.

“You have got to be kidding,” Liam laughs, but he grips Harry’s arm anyway.

They walk arm in arm into the hotel, chatting and laughing as they meander their way through the lobby. But it turns serious for a moment, as they catch each other’s eye just at the threshold of the ballroom where the party is being held. Liam can hear music playing in the distance and the hum of constant chatter, but all of that is separate from them for now, as it’s only Liam and Harry standing in the dim space just in front of the ballroom doors.

Liam realizes then that it’s always been a performance of one kind or another with the two of them. It isn’t a bad thing, and it doesn’t make anything between them less real. Harry loves a good performance. And Liam knows from experience now that there is rarely a better way to connect with others than through a performance. Tonight is simply the final showcase.

Liam and Harry open the door together and are swallowed up into the noise of the crowd. The photographers notice their entrance and swarm over as one entity to snap their picture. The two of them stand, smiling, with their arms around each other’s waists as lights flash all around them. And maybe it’s odd, but Liam feels the most at ease he’s ever felt. He turns his head to look at Harry. Harry’s smile is genuine, his eyes lit up, not from the camera flashes, but from within.

After what feels like several hundred photographs have been taken, Liam pats Harry on the back and makes a movement like he’s going to walk away. The pictures are winding down, and he’d like to find the bar.

“Oh, darling!” Harry exclaims, holding up a hand to stop Liam. He reaches for the collar of Liam’s shirt, and Liam has to laugh when he recognizes what’s happening. “There,” Harry pronounces a moment later when he’s satisfied with the state of Liam’s bowtie.

“That’s better,” Liam says.

They face each other, smiling for a moment, then Harry nods his head in the direction where he thinks the bar is, like Liam should go. Liam gives Harry a nod in return and sets off.

Liam doesn’t know anyone else at this party, but he isn’t worried. His watch ticks steadily on his wrist, and he knows that his bowtie is sitting nicely now. Liam throws back his shoulders, a smile playing its way across his face, and he finds it easy to make his own way through the crowd.

 

_fin_


End file.
